l^MJRAGLeSKj 
OF  CLARA  *' 
VAN  HAA<3*" 


The    Miracles    of 
Clara   Van   Haag 


The  Miracles  of 
cClara  Van  Haag^ 

Translated    from   the    Danish    of 

Johannes  Buchholtz 

By    W.     W.     Worster 

"rl 


New  York 

Alfred  •  A  •  Knopf 


1922 


THE    MIRACLES   OF   CLARA 
VAN    HAAG 


HEDVIG  appeared  on  the  stone  steps  of  the 
Toldbod,  her  yellow  hair  fluttering  in  the 
spring  breeze.  She  drew  it  aside  from  her 
forehead,  shaded  her  eyes  with  one  hand,  and  looked 
up  along  Brogade.  The  carriage  must  soon  be  there. 
Then,  running  down  the  three  steps,  she  came  to  a 
standstill  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  She  stood  easily 
upright  on  her  feet,  while  the  wind  from  the  harbour 
blew  her  skirts  in  about  her  legs  and  spread  her  white 
apron  out  Uke  a  glittering  lateen  sail. 

The  office  window  opened  cautiously  a  little  way, 
and  Old  Poulsen's  gentle,  grey,  billy-goat  face  peeped 
out.     Hedvig  laughed  up  at  him  : 

"  No,  not  yet  !  " 

She  went  up  into  the  office. 

"  Lovely  and  warm  in  here,"  she  said,  stroking  her 
bare  arms  from  the  elbow  in  turn.  The  fire  was  flutter- 
ing softly  in  the  stove,  the  sun  shone  in  through  the 
two  windows,  painting  splendidly  brilliant  squares  on 
the  shiny  linoleum.  Outside,  along  the  quay,  were 
ships  with  white  deck-houses  and  tall  masts. 


2      THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Poulsen  walked  up  and  down  restlessly  in  his  down- 
trodden shoes.  He  was  wearing  the  same  old  green 
uniform  coat  as  ever,  faded  to  yellow  on  the  right-hand 
side,  but  Hedvig  noticed  he  had  put  on  a  pair  of  cuffs — 
strangely  shaped  cuffs  that  he  was  constantly  screwing 
up  into  his  sleeves.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  stood 
listening  with  open  mouth.  He  drew  himself  up  two 
or  three  times,  but  his  chronic  stoop  was  not  to  be 
straightened  out  in  a  moment  ;  at  last  he  twirled  round 
helplessly  where  he  stood. 

"  Wasn't  that  a  carriage  coming  ?  "  he  said. 

Hedvig  sprang  to  the  door,  ran  down  into  the  street       | 
and  back  again. 

"  Never  a  sign  of  one  !  " 

"  It    sounded    like  ...  it    really   sounded    like    a       ■ 
carriage,"   murmured   Poulsen  apologetically,   and  fell 
to  pacing  up  and  down  once  more. 

Hedvig  stepped  up  right  in  front  of  him,  barring 
his  way. 

"  Poulsen  !  What's  the  matter  with  you  to-day  ? 
Anyone'd  think  it  was  your  mistress  coming,  instead  of 
mine." 

Poulsen,  abashed,  glanced  aside  uneasily,  and 
stammered  : 

"  I — I  don't  mind  telHng  you,  Hedvig,  I'd  rather 
thought  of — thought  of  just  stepping  out  to  say 
'Goddag' — or  perhaps — er — '  Welcome  to  Knarreby,'  you 
know,  or — or  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?  It's  nothing  to  be  fright- 
ened about." 

"  Ah,  but  you  see,  my  dear,  I'm  not  sure — I  can't 
be  quite  sure  if  it's  the  right  thing  to  do,  you  know. 
The  office,  that's  one  thing,  but  the  house  .  .  .  You 
see  what  I  mean  ?     My  place  is  down  here,  and  nothing 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG       3 

to  do  with  upstairs.  And  I  wouldn't  dream  of  putting 
myself  forward  in  any  way.  But,  seeing  I've  been  here 
now  these  two-and-twenty  years,  I  can't  help  feeling 
I've  a  sort  of  right  to  just  step  out  and  say  '  Goddag,' 
and  '  Welcome  to  Knarreby  Toldbod.'  "  ^ 

"  And  so  you  have,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  have,  you  know,  really,"  repeated  Poulsen  more 
cheerfully.  "  But — what's  the  best  way  .  .  .  ?  Do 
you  think,  now,  if  I  put  on  my  cap,  and  went  out  on 
the  steps,  just  to  make  it  more  official  Uke,  or  .  .  .  well, 
I'm  getting  on,  you  know,  but  this  is  the  first — the  very 
first  time  in  all  my  hfe  there's  come  a  new  mistress  to 
the  Toldbod  here.  Wassermann  and  his  wife,  they 
weren't  young  when  I  first  came.  But  this  one,  she 
comes  out  here  from  Heaven  knows  where  in  the  wide 
world.  Only  the  other  day,  Hr.  van  Haag  was  saying 
something  about  '  when  we  were  in  Paris  .  .  .'  In 
Paris  !  Why,  it  takes  your  breath  away  to  think  of  it. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

Hedvig  looked  thoughtful.  "  It's  awkward  for  us, 
anyhow.  We  don't  know  if  she's  young  or  old,  if  she's 
an  angel  or  a  very  devil.  She's  more  Ukely  to  be  that, 
I  should  say.  But  .  .  ." — and  Hedvig  flung  back  her 
shoulders  as  if  casting  off  a  cloak  of  superfluous  con- 
siderations— "  anyhow,  I'm  not  going  to  go  on  my  knees 
to  her,  if  she's  a  dozen  times  the  mistress.  If  she  comes 
telhng  me  '  I'm  from  Paris,'  I  shall  simply  say  :  '  Oh, 
are  you  ?  And  I'm  from  Knarreby!'  And  that'll  be 
q-u-i-t  quits  !  " 

"  Ah,  it's  all  very  well  for  you,"  said  aged  Poulsen, 

shaking  his  head  and  sitting  down  heavily  in  his  chair 

by  the  window.     He  took  up  his  pen,  as  if  to  intimate 

that  the  discussion  was  at  an  end,  but  a  moment  later 

1  Toldbod :  the  Custom  House.     "  Toll-booth." 


4   THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

they  were  talking  again  of  the  same  remarkable  topic, 
to  wit,  that  Toldforvalter  van  Haag,  who  had  been 
living  as  a  bachelor  now  for  nearly  a  year,  had  got  that 
telegram  yesterday,  and  Hedvig  had  been  down  to 
Soren  Vognmand  to  order  a  closed  carriage  to  meet 
the  three  o'clock  train.  Fruen  .  .  }  Poulsen's  back 
curved  every  time  he  spoke  the  word. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hedvig.  "  But  I  can't  stand  her  being 
so  sharp  with  her  maids,  for  instance.  You'd  never 
think  a  woman  with  any  education  would  use  such 
language  at  all." 

"  What — what  do  you  mean  ?  How  do  you 
know  .  .  .  ?  " 

Hedvig  looked  stiffly  in  front  of  her,  and  said 
mysteriously  : 

"  That's  what  she's  like,  I  know.  I  don't  mean,  of 
course,  I  know  exactly  the  very  words.  But  when  Hr. 
van  Haag  daren't  even  put  his  own  furniture  as  he 
likes  .  .  .  He  always  says  '  Leave  it  where  it  is  till 
mistress  comes,  she'll  be  sure  to  move  it  anyhow  !  '  So 
she  must  be  a  troublesome  one,  and  then,  of  course, 
she'll  be  nasty  to  me  as  well.     See  ?  " 

Poulsen  made  no  attempt  to  follow  Hedvig's  logic, 
but  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it  in  his  timidly 
careful  way.  And  as  the  fresh  air  poured  in,  both  heard 
at  once  distinctly  the  rumble  of  wheels  from  Algade. 

The  window  was  closed  with  most  incautious  haste. 
Hedvig's  cheeks  flushed  ;  Poulsen  ran  to  the  row  of 
pegs  and  took  down  his  gold-laced  cap,  put  it  on,  took 
it  off  again,  and  ended  by  setting  it  hopelessly  awry 

^  Fruen :  "the  mistress."  The  word  is  also  generally  used  in 
speaking  of  a  married  lady  without  mentioning  her  name.  Fru 
Clara  Van  Haag  is  frequently  referred  to  as  "Fruen"  throughout  the 
book. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG       5 

on  his  grey  head.  When  the  carriage  rolled  up,  he 
and  Hedvig  were  standing  like  two  highly  dissimilar 
statues,  one  on  either  side  of  the  top  step. 

S0ren  Vognmand  gave  a  mighty  crack  of  his  whip, 
and  pulled  up  the  horses.  The  hood  was  down.  Beside 
Hr.  van  Haag  in  the  carriage  sat  a  straight,  slender 
woman  in  white. 

"  Drive  on  a  little,  if  you  please." 

The  lady's  voice  gave  each  word  its  proper  share  of 
emphasis.  Soren  Vognmand  turned  his  head,  to  make 
sure  the  door  of  the  carriage  was  where  he  had  reckoned 
it  should  be — midway  in  front  of  the  steps,  exactly. 
Then  he  swung  his  nose  round  to  the  front  once  more. 

"  Drive  on  a  little,  please  !  As  far  as  the  ship 
there." 

S0ren  gave  an  appealing  glance  at  Hr.  van  Haag — 
he  at  any  rate  was  none  of  your  womenfolk — but,  finding 
no  help  in  that  quarter,  he  lashed  out  at  the  near  side 
horse  in  a  way  that  made  the  carriage  almost  leap  the 
twenty  odd  yards  across  to  the  quay.  Never  in  his 
born  days  had  he  heard  of  such  a  thing. 

"  Right.  Now  round,  if  you  please.  Thanks.  No, 
stay  where  you  are  a  minute  !  " 

Then  happened  something  altogether  notable  and 
hitherto  unheard  of — something  that  was  whispered  of 
years  afterwards  in  tones  of  mystery  throughout  the 
town  :  Fruen  drew  forth  from  a  white  silk  bag  a  pair  of 
opera-glasses,  a  perfect  little  jewel  of  a  thing,  all  ghtter- 
ing  and  splendid,  and  held  it  to  her  eyes. 

The  stevedores  hauling  planks  ashore  from  the  craft 
nearest  at  hand  stopped  their  work  in  amazement. 
Madam  Hermansen,  waddling  resignedly  along  with  her 
greengrocer's  barrow  behind  her,  stopped  dead,  and 
wrinkled  her  beetroot  countenance  to  a  sort  of  smile. 


6   THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Hehe  !  Here  was  something  happening  in  Knarreby 
for  once  ! 

The  glasses  were  plainly  directed  towards  the  Toldbod 
itself.  Fru  van  Haag  sat  scrutinising  the  heavy,  yellow- 
ochre  building  as  if  it  were  some  significant  point  on  her 
course,  and  she  a  distant  ship.  Suddenly  she  ordered 
the  carriage  on  again,  in  front  of  Vang's  hotel,  and 
put  up  her  glasses  again,  gazing  as  if  with  increasing 
suspicion  at  her  future  home. 

The  two  poor  creatures  waiting  on  the  steps  felt 
her  magnif3dng  glance  upon  themselves.  Hedvig's 
blue  eyes  set  sharply,  and  the  blood  came  and  went  in 
her  cheeks.  Old  Poulsen  screwed  at  his  refractory 
cuffs,  glancing  uneasily  all  ways  at  his  dress,  in  dread 
lest  Fruen  should  be  even  then  discovering  something 
amiss. 

At  last  she  seemed  to  have  come  to  a  decision. 
Lowering  her  glasses,  she  signed  with  her  gloved  hand 
to  the  humiliated  Soren  to  drive  up  to  the  house.  Hed- 
vig  opened  the  carriage  door,  Toldforvalter  van  Haag 
stepped  out,  followed  by  his  wife,  a  slender  figure  fully 
as  tall  as  his  own. 

Poulsen  plucked  off  his  cap  and,  holding  it  at  his 
side,  commenced  in  his  decrepit  voice  : 

"  As  the  oldest  official  in  the  service  of  His  Majesty's 
Customs  at  Knarreby,  I  trust  I  may  claim  the  right  .  .  ." 

The  rest  of  Poulsen's  speech  was  lost  to  the  world 
for  ever.  His  toothless  words  lacked  power  to  grip  the 
ear,  and  after  a  second  or  so  he  was  bankrupt  of  sound. 

There  was  something  wanting  in  Fru  van  Haag's 
manner  to  make  her  appear  a  thorough  lady — according 
to  Knarreby  standards.  She  lacked  the  stiffness  and 
reserve  that  is  considered  fitting  on  first  arrival  at  a 
place.     See  there,  for  instance,  how  easily  and  at  home 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG      7 

she  stood  on  the  steps,  and  took  possession  of  Hedvig 
with  the  most  casual  air.  "  Goddag,  Hedvig.  Just 
carry  these  things  up,  would  you  ?     Thanks." 

Well,  well,  perhaps  her  husband  had  told  her  as  they 
drove  up  :  that's  Hedvig,  your  maid,  on  the  steps  there. 
Yes,  of  course,  he  must  have.  Still,  she  might  have 
pretended  not  to  know.  And  the  same  with  Poulsen  ; 
she  ought  to  have  waited  for  him  to  be  presented. 
Instead  of  which,  this  is  what  she  did  :  Walked  straight 
up  to  him,  threw  him  into  utter  confusion  at  the  start 
by  offering  him  her  left  hand,  which  he  fumbled  at 
desperately  with  his  right,  and  said  out  loud,  as  if 
continuing  a  conversation  : 

"  Not  half  bad-looking  really,  if  only  they  hadn't 
painted  it  the  colour  of  I  won't  say  what  !  " 

She  was  presumably  referring  to  the  building,  but 
Poulsen's  faded  old  eyes  flickered  hither  and  thither, 
as  if  he  fancied  she  must  be  speaking  of  his  coat. 

Madam  Hermansen  set  up  a  laugh  that  echoed 
between  the  house  and  Vang's  hotel. 

Fruen  walked  with  a  firm,  light  step  up  to  the  living- 
rooms  above.  Her  husband  gave  a  twitch  at  his  new 
trousers,  creased  to  a  knife-edge  down  the  leg,  and 
creaked  up  after  her.  Last  of  all  came  Hedvig,  taking 
in  everything  with  all  her  senses.  That  silk  bag  with 
the  glasses,  and  even  the  parasol,  had  a  delicate,  strange 
perfume  about  them. 

Just  inside  the  drawing-room  door  her  mistress 
stopped,  and  Hedvig  noted  that  she  showed  no  delight 
of  recognition  over  the  furniture. 

"  Er — I  left  things  so  that  you  could  fix  them  up  as 
you  liked,"  said  Hr.  van  Haag. 

"  Oh  yes,  thanks,"  said  his  wife  absently,  and  sat 
down   in   the   nearest   chair.     Her   voice   and   bearing 


8   THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

seemed  suddenly  to  have  lost  all  life  and  elasticity. 
Her  head  drooped  forward,  her  mouth  a  trifle  open,  her 
eyes  looking  nowhere. 

"  Lunch  is  ready,"  said  Hedvig,  as  she  went  out. 
But,  coming  in  again  a  little  later,  she  found  her  mistress 
sitting  as  before.  Then  she  rose,  submitted  listlessly 
as  Hedvig  drew  off  her  white  coat,  and  went  in  to  table. 

Her  husband  bade  her  welcome  as  they  sat  down. 
Hedvig  noticed  that  his  voice  was  no  more  expressive 
than  if  he  had  been  asking  for  his  boots. 

They  spoke  little  during  the  first  part  of  the  meal, 
but  the  wine  sank  rapidly  in  the  bottle.  Hr.  van  Haag's 
cheeks  flushed  in  red  spots,  but  his  wife  sat  pale  as 
ever.  Properly  speaking,  she  was  not  pale  at  all ; 
there  was  a  curious  golden  hue  in  her  complexion. 
Hedvig  caught  a  word  or  two  as  she  poured  out  the 
coffee  : 

"  The  same  old  things  ?  Of  course,"  said  Hr.  van 
Haag.  "  Did  you  expect  me  to  buy  a  whole  houseful 
of  furniture  here  and  leave  all  the  old  things  at 
Helsingor  ?  " 

"  The  air  of  the  place  is  just  the  same.  I  can't 
stand  it.  Wretchedly  bad  taste  on  my  part,  no  doubt. 
But  I  do  wish  you'd  left  the  air  behind." 

Her  husband  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine  and  drank 
it  off  before  answering. 

"  It  seems  to  me — when  you  wrap  yourself  up  in  your 
own  perfume — you  still  use  the  same,  I  notice — the  air 
of  the  rooms  can't  hurt  you  very  much." 

"  I  dare  say  it's  funny,  but  I  can't  help  it.  It  is  so, 
and  it  always  will  be  !  " 

Hedvig  was  out  in  her  kitchen  once  more.  She  stood 
for  a  long  time  idly,  thinking  of  the  curious  way  her 
mistress  had  spoken  about  the  air  of  the  place.     Now 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG   9 

what  could  it  mean  ?  Hedvig  drummed  with  her 
fingers  on  her  front  teeth,  as  was  her  way  when  puzzling 
over  things.  Suddenly  the  dining-room  bell  rang. 
And  it  went  on  and  on  while  she  was  wiping  her  hands 
and  hurrying  through  the  little  passage.  But,  heavens  ! — 
what  was  this  ?  A  half-smothered  cry,  and  the  bell 
stopped.  Hedvig  flung  open  the  door  in  time  to  see 
Hr.  van  Haag  draw  himself  up  hastily  and  step  aside 
from  where  his  wife  sat.  She  saw  her  mistress's  white 
arm,  bare  to  the  elbow,  waving  this  way  and  that  with 
the  torn  bell-rope  in  her  clenched  hand.  And  what 
more  ?  She  saw  her  mistress  wipe  her  mouth,  spit  out 
something  into  her  serviette,  and  wipe  her  lips  again 
as  if  she  had  tasted  something  poisonous. 

But  Hr.  van  Haag  turned  on  his  heel  and  said  in  his 
dullest,  everyday  voice  : 

"  You  can  clear  away — that's  all." 

"  Yes  .  .  ."  said  Hedvig  in  confusion.  She  did  not 
venture  to  look  at  either  of  the  pair,  but  began  at  hazard 
moving  the  things  nearest  to  hand. 

Fruen  rose,  threw  down  her  serviette  slap  on  the 
floor,  and  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  breathing  as  if 
she  had  been  running  full  tilt  upstairs. 

Hr.  van  Haag  took  another  glass  of  wine,  and 
said  : 

"  My  wife  wishes  her  trunks  brought  up." 

"  Yes." 

But  here  Fru  van  Haag  herself  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, and  said,  with  an  air  of  authority  that  made  all 
other  orders  simply  null  : 

"  My  trunks  will  stay  where  they  are  I  And, 
Hedvig,  you  can  go  and  order  a  carriage  at  once, 
if  you  please." 

"  There's  no  train  now,"  said  her  husband.     But  this 


10     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

time  his  voice  was  not  by  any  means  as  if  asking  for  his 
boots.  He  tried  to  squeeze  out  a  httle  whinnying 
laugh. 

"  At  once  !  "  said  Fru  van  Haag. 

"  Yes." 

At  this  her  husband  could  contain  himself  no  longer  ; 
he  whinnied  again,  and  said  : 

"  Allow  me.  /  shall  be  most  happy  to  order  a 
carriage  myself.     Most  happy,  I  assure  you." 

"  Thank  you." 

The  door  slammed  behind  him. 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  Fruen  turned  to  Hedvig 
with  a  little  laugh.  "  Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  there'll 
be  no  Frue  in  the  house  here,  after  all.  We've  not  had 
much  time  to  get  to  like  each  other,  have  we  ?  And 
you,  poor  thing,  you've  been  having  all  sorts  of  extra 
work,  of  course,  getting  in  things  and  doing  the  place 
up.  Here  .  .  ." — she  opened  her  smooth  little  purse 
and  took  out  a  ttn-Kroner  note — "  that's  for  you,  and 
thank  you  for  your  trouble." 

"Oh  .  .  .  thank  you,"  said  Hedvig,  flushing.  The 
note  was  perfectly  new — it  looked,  indeed,  almost  too 
new  to  be  genuine.  But  of  course  such  a  fine  lady  could 
never  think  of  touching  anything  old  and  dirty. 

"  And  then,  dear,  I  don't  want  you  to  say  anything 
about  this — this  pleasant  little  banquet  of  ours — to 
anyone.     You  understand  ?  " 

Hedvig  was  just  dropping  the  note  into  the  breast  of 
her  dress  ;  now  she  fished  it  up  again  in  two  fingers, 
and  held  it  out  with  a  shy  smile. 

"  Please,  I  don't  want  to  be  paid  for  keeping  a 
secret.  And  besides,  you  know,  I  didn't  see  anything, 
really." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child — how  dreadfully  tactless  of  me  ! 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     11 

You  make  me  .  .  .  Look  here,  I'm  going  away,  and 
it  won't  matter  in  the  least  to  me  what  people  here  say. 
But  Hr.  van  Haag,  he'll  be  here  all  the  time.  And,  you 
know,  I've  an  idea  they'll  say  it  was  his  fault  I  went 
away  again,  if  they  hear  about  it.  And  that's  quite 
wrong — at  least,  it's  not  quite  right.  It  was  my  fault. 
My  nerves  are  simply  awful.  I'm  in  such  a  state  that 
the  least  thing  upsets  me.  It  was  my  fault.  But  now 
you  must  forget  all  about  that  stupid  money.  I'll  find 
some  little  thing  for  you  in  my  trunk  instead.  And 
you'll  keep  it,  won't  you,  in  memory  of  a  foolish  woman 
that  was  your  mistress  for  an  hour  ?  Will  you,  Hedvig  ? 
Are  my  things  in  the  passage  ?  " 

"  I — I  brought  them  up  before." 

"  Up  where  ?  " 

"  In  Fruen's  room." 

"  Oh,  so  I've  a  room  of  my  own,  have  I  ?  Good ! 
We'll  go  in  there." 

Hedvig  opened  the  door,  and  explained  that  the 
place  wasn't  in  order  a  bit,  but  Hr.  van  Haag  had 
said  .   .  . 

It  was  a  bright  little  sunlit  room,  with  blue  walls, 
one  window  looking  out  on  to  the  church,  the  other 
over  the  harbour,  and  between  the  two  a  big  black 
grand  piano  set  at  an  angle.  On  the  smooth  surface 
of  the  piano  stood  a  crystal  bowl  with  a  single  tall  branch 
of  fresh  green  beech. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  piano  !  "  cried  Fruen,  running  forward 
as  if  to  an  embrace.  "  It's  ages  now  .  .  .  and  I've 
missed  it  so  !  " 

And,  sitting  down  on  the  little  round  stool,  she  leaned 
forward  over  the  instrument  with  her  hands  before  her 
face. 

"  I've  been  away  so  long,  Hedvig,  I'd  almost  for- 


12     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

gotten  it  all.  And  now,  here's  my  best  friend  here  to 
receive  me — and  then  to  run  away  again  and  leave  it 
all  alone  ..." 

"  But — couldn't  you  take  it  with  you  ?  " 

"  Haha  !  No  ;  the  piano,  that's  his.  Oh,  take  that 
branch  thing  away,  will  you  ?  What  an  idea,  to  put  it  in 
here  at  all  !  " 

Hedvig  flushed.  "  I — it  was  me,"  she  said.  "  I 
kept  it  in  water  in  the  window,  till  the  buds  opened.  I — 
I  thought  it  looked  so  nice.  And  seeing  the  rest  of  the 
place  didn't  look  nice  as  it  was  ..." 

"  You,  Hedvig  ?  You  did  that  to  please  me,  a 
stranger  ?  Why  ...  I  thank  you,  dear.  What  a 
dainty  httle  hand  it  is.  Long  fingers — there's  race  in 
that  hand.  And  you  could  play,  too.  Are  you  a 
httle  countess  in  disguise  ?  Who  is  your  father, 
child  ?  " 

"  His  name's  Egholm.     The  photographer." 

"  Photographer  ?  Is  he,  though  ?  "  said  Fruen,  still 
playing  with  Hedvig's  fingers.  "  And  his  name's 
Egholm  ?     Curious  old-fashioned  name." 

Suddenly  she  dropped  the  girl's  hand,  and  looked 
thoughtfully  out  through  the  window. 

"  Hedvig  Egholm,  did  you  say  ?  Tell  me  ;  your 
father,  is  he  very  old  ?  " 

"No  .  .  .  not  so  very  old.  I  don't  quite 
know  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  but  of  course,  he  need  not  be  so  very  old. 
Photographer  !  .  .  .  Tell  me,  you  don't  happen  to  know 
if  he  was  ever  in  Helsingor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  was  in  a  place  there  once.  Some  Consul 
or  other.     He  often  talks  about  it.  ..." 

Fru  van  Haag  rose  to  her  feet  with  some  emotion. 
Threads  of  her  fife  that  had  lain  hitherto  in  an  unheeded 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     13 

tangle  unravelled  now  of  themselves  and  met  and  wove 
again  into  a  new  strange  pattern.  More  than  twenty 
years  back  this  Egholm  had  been  her  boy-lover.  She 
had  never  so  much  as  thought  of  him  since  then.  And 
now,  after  travelling  all  over  the  world,  she  had  come, 
one  fine  April  day,  to  Knarreby,  a  place  that  seemed  to 
lie  outside  every  imaginable  world,  to  find  her  child- 
lover  actually  alive,  in  the  person  of  a  photographer, 
with  a  family  of  his  own.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
about  it  ;  here  was  Hedvig,  with  Kasper  Egholm's  long- 
fingered  hands.  Strange.  .  .  .  And  those  hands  had 
set  flowers  to  greet  her.  .  .  . 

Less  for  information  than  as  voicing  her  thoughts 
from  a  trance,  she  went  on  : 

"  You  haven't  your  father's  eyes.  Nor  his  hair. 
Your  father's  hair  is  almost  black — and  brushed  back 
from  the  forehead  ;  isn't  that  right  ?  " 

Hedvig  laughed. 

"  Father  hasn't  much  hair  at  all  now." 

Fruen  laughed  too.  Then  she  fell  to  examining 
Hedvig  from  every  side,  with  the  same  careful  scrutiny 
as  she  had  the  house  when  she  drove  up.  Hedvig 
flushed  under  her  glance,  but  was  not  displeased.  Fruen 
had  such  strange  big  eyes,  and  the  look  on  her  face 
changed  incessantly.  Hedvig  could  not  help  thinking 
it  was  as  if  she  were  watching  a  procession  go  by  ;  now 
nodding  to  some  one  she  knew,  then  laughing  at  some 
ridiculous  figure,  then  frowning  slightly,  as  at  sight  of 
some  one  she  did  not  like. 

Some  time  passed  in  silence,  then  Fru  Van  Haag  said 
in  her  fine  rich  voice  : 

"  I  am  Consul  Steen's  daughter.  Perhaps  you 
know.  Your  father  and  I  were  playmates  in  the  old 
days.     I  simply  couldn't  go  away  again  now  without 


14    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

seeing  him.  And,  after  all,  I  might  just  as  well  stay  in 
Knarreby  now  I'm  here.  It  won't  be  so  bad  as  long 
as  I  have  you." 

She  opened  a  trunk,  and  began  lifting  and  moving 
delicate  things  :  dresses  and  linen  soft  as  the  petals  of 
flowers.  At  last  she  found  a  fiat  mahogany  box,  and 
took  from  it  a  brooch  set  with  a  trefoil  of  amethysts. 
She  handed  it  to  Hedvig  with  a  smile. 

"  There,  put  that  in  your  dress,  at  the  neck." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Hedvig,  holding  out  her  hand. 

Fruen  took  it  and  looked  at  the  fingers  again, 

"  And  then,"  she  said,  "  we  must  have  these  ten 
little  fingers  trained  to  what  they  were  meant  for.  Oh, 
we  shall  be  three  good  friends  at  Knarreby  Toldbod — 
you  and  I  and  the  piano.  And  surely  that  ought  to  be 
enough." 

Just  then  came  the  sound  of  wheels  outside,  stopping 
in  front  of  the  house.  Hr.  van  Haag  had  driven  up  with 
it.  He  had  meant  what  he  said,  then.  Hedvig  felt  a 
sudden  pang  at  her  heart  ;  was  the  Toldbod  to  be  empty 
as  before — a  barren  warehouse  of  a  place,  with  a  couple 
of  human  beings  accidentally  dropped  in  ?  No  ;  Fru 
van  Haag  opened  the  window,  and  gave  her  order  that 
none  failed  to  obey  : 

"  The  carriage  can  go  back  again.  I  am  going  to 
stay." 

Toldforvalter  van  Haag  repeated  the  order  after 
his  own  fashion,  as  if  he  were  asking  for  his  shaving- 
water.  But  it  was  needless.  Soren  Vognmand  had 
already  turned  the  horses ;  an  extra  touch  of  the 
whip,  and  their  hoofs  struck  sparks  from  the  cobbled 
roadway. 

And  then  it  was  that  Fru  van  Haag  said  something 
that  filled  Hedvig  with  amazement,  more  so,  perhaps. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG  15 

than  all  else  that  she  had  heard  and  seen  on  this  extra- 
ordinary day  : 

"  Go  down  and  ask  the  old  man  to  come  up." 

"  Old  man  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  old  man  in  the  faded  coat.  Tell  him 
I  want  to  hear  that  speech  he  was  going  to  make  for 
me." 

What  it  was  that  moved  her  Hedvig  herself  did  not 
know,  but  she  felt  the  tears  welling  into  her  eyes  as  she 
ran  down  the  stairs.  She  burst  into  the  office  without 
knocking,  threw  both  arms  round  the  little  withered 
man  at  his  desk  by  the  window,  and  said  all  out  of 
breath  : 

"  Poulsen  !  She's  the  dearest  dear  on  earth,  and  a 
queen  besides.  She's  given  me  this  jewel  brooch — and 
now  you've  got  to  go  up  and  make  your  speech.  And, 
Poulsen,  she's  going  to  stay  !  She's  not  going,  after  all. 
Oh,  be  quick,  Poulsen !  Aren't  you  ever  so  pleased 
now  ?  " 


11 

NEXT  evening  Hedvig  went  home.  Fruen  had 
been  out  in  the  kitchen  with  her  all  the  after- 
noon, and  told  her  many  things  about  her 
childhood  and  girlhood.  Now  she  sent  her  off  home 
with  a  cheery  message  to  her  father,  and  a  promise 
to  call  on  him  soon. 

After  all,  thought  Hedvig,  as  she  turned  in  to 
Stationsvej  on  the  way  home,  it  might  have  come  at  a 
worse  time.  Suppose  it  had  happened  in  the  days  when 
they  lived  in  the  back-yard  premises  of  the  undertaker's 
shop,  and  the  camera  stood  on  a  cement  barrel  with  a 
green  cloth  over.  Hedvig  shuddered  at  the  thought  of 
that  comfortless  time.  No,  the  little  white  house  her 
father  had  built  now  was  a  very  different  thing.  She 
was  just  coming  in  sight  of  it  now.  And  it  really  did 
look  both  cheerful  and  elegant,  with  the  creeper  and 
honeysuckle  growing  half-way  up  the  roof. 

Hedvig  knew  well  enough  that  things  within  doors 
were  hardly  as  cheerful  or  as  elegant — ugh  !  But  now 
she  would  help  her  mother  as  well  as  she  could,  and  it 
would  not  look  so  bad.  There  were  brass  handles  to 
the  doors  ;  they  should  be  polished  like  purest  gold  for 
Fruen's  hand  to  touch. 

There  was  light  already  burning  behind  the  small 
panes — that  must  be  father  at  work.  What  sort  of 
temper  was  he  in  to-day,  she  wondered  ? 

She  stepped  over  the  bridge  across  the  ditch  and 

x6 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     17 

opened  the  door.  A  harsh  and  vulgar  door-bell  clattered 
as  she  did  so.  "  It's  me,"  said  Hedvig,  and  passed 
through  the  "  waiting-room  " — it  really  seemed  to  her 
quite  splendidly  furnished,  though  the  upholstery  was 
not  a  httle  damaged — into  the  next  room,  which  was 
parlour  and  workroom  in  one. 

A  single  glance  showed  her  that  something  unusual 
was  going  on. 

Her  father  stood  at  his  table,  trimming  the  edges  of 
some  prints.  He  stood  in  the  light  of  the  small  lamp, 
darkening  the  rest  of  the  room,  but  there  on  the  settee 
was  Sivert,  her  eldest  brother,  apprenticed  to  a  glazier 
in  the  town.  Close  beside  him  was  little  Emanuel, 
and  both  were  rocking  to  and  fro  in  a  noiseless  ecstasy 
of  laughter  behind  their  father's  back.  There  was 
nothing  remarkable  in  Sivert 's  laughing  ;  it  would 
rather  have  seemed  strange  if  he  had  not.  But  how  on 
earth  had  it  come  about  that  he  should  be  sitting  in 
here  at  his  ease  on  the  settee,  with  his  father  humming 
carelessly  all  the  time  as  if  it  were  nothing  ?  And 
now,  lo,  father  turned  and  nodded  his  big  shiny  pate  : 
Godaften !  He,  too,  was  evidently  pleased  about  some- 
thing.    A  mystery,  indeed  ! 

"  Is  mother  outside  ?  "  said  Hedvig,  going  through 
to  the  kitchen. 

Her  mother  was  there.  At  sight  of  Hedvig  she 
set  down  the  things  she  was  holding,  and  hurried  to 
embrace  her. 

"  And  so  you've  got  an  evening  off  already  ?  I 
didn't  look  to  see  you  the  first  week.  Well,  and  what's 
she  hke  ?  I  saw  her  spanking  past  in  Soren  Vognmand's 
best  turn-out,  and  Hr.  van  Haag  himself  beside  her, 
and  a  white  hat  and  feathers  and  what-not,  Is  she  a 
decent  sort,  now  ?  " 


18    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Yes,  ever  so." 

"  Well,  that's  a  blessing.  And  I'm  not  the  one  to 
judge  her  hardly  for  the  nasty  things  she  said  to  poor 
old  Poulsen  when  he  came  out  with  cuffs  on  and  all  to 
meet  her  on  the  steps.  Like  as  not  it  was  just  thought- 
lessness." 

Hedvig  frowned,  and  thought  for  a  moment. 

"  That's  Madam  Hermansen  been  teUing  tales 
again,"  she  said  darkly. 

Her  mother  bent  over  the  coffee-pot  and  said  softly  : 

"  Herregud,  we  womenfolk  are  that  way.  What's 
put  into  us,  it's  bound  to  come  out  again.  I  thought 
myself  it  was  lies  about  her  saying  that  of  the  Toldbod 
being  painted  I  don't  know  what — and  the  King's  own 
monogram  over  the  door  and  all." 

Hedvig  no  longer  felt  inchned  to  take  up  the  matter 
further.  How  could  she  explain  that  it  was  true,  but 
that  Fruen  was  as  fine  a  lady  as  could  be,  all  the 
same  ! 

She  changed  the  subject  with  a  question  : 

"  How's  Si  vert  come  to  be  sitting  in  there  laughing 
all  over  his  face  ?  " 

"  'Twas  your  father  himself  called  him  in,  and  if  he's 
laughing,  poor  lad,  why,  I  doubt  it's  because  he  can 
smell  the  coffee." 

"  Is  he  going  to  have  coffee  in  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  father  said  himself  ..." 

"  Well,  what's  the  world  coming  to  now  I  What's 
it  all  for?  " 

"  What's  it  for  ?  "  Fru  Egholm  tried  her  best  to 
appear  as  if  she  found  it  only  natural,  but  Hedvig  saw 
through  her  attempt  with  ease.  "  Well,  he's  offered  to 
dig  a  well,  and  your  father  was  ever  so  pleased,  and  said 
he  might." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     19 

"Oh  .  .  .  that  old  business  about  the  well  !  Don't 
tell  me  father  lets  him  sit  in  the  parlour  for  that,  now." 

"  Well  .  .  .  perhaps  there  was  something  else,  too 
— about  some  sweethearting  or  something.  .  .  ."  Fru 
Egholm  turned  her  back  completely  now.  "  But  that's 
no  business  of  mine.  You'd  better  talk  to  your  father 
and  Si  vert  about  that." 

Fru  Egholm  took  up  the  cups  and  saucers,  arranged 
them  with  the  ease  of  habit  between  her  forearm  and  her 
breast,  took  the  coffee-pot  by  the  handle,  and  stepped 
briskly  into  the  parlour. 

Hedvig  followed,  laid  her  hat  and  jacket  aside,  and 
sat  down  beside  her  brothers.  Egholm  had  his  coffee 
at  his  own  table. 

Sivert  fell  to  on  his  coffee  and  cakes  with  noisy 
delight. 

"  Fve  been  thinking,"  he  said,  "  if  there's  really 
any  strength  to  speak  of  in  stuff  like  this.  When  a 
man's  going  down  into  the  earth,  you  know,  he  wants 
strengthening  things.  But  perhaps  you  haven't  heard 
about  the  great  big  well  that's  to  be  started  on  at  once, 
to-morrow  the  very  day  ?  " 

"  It's  quite  correct,"  put  in  his  father,  with  ready 
support.  "  He's  going  to  dig  us  a  well.  A  palace  like 
this  ought  to  have  a  well  of  its  own — that's  clear." 

"  But  what  does  he  know  about  digging  wells  ?  " 
asked  Hedvig. 

Sivert  had  to  set  down  his  cup  and  lean  back  on 
the  settee  to  express  his  utter  contempt. 

"  D'you  mean  to  say,  girl,  I  don't  know  how  to  dig 
a  well  ?  Why,  I've  dug  wells  miles  deep  or  more  ;  as 
near  as  could  be.  And  then  I  only  stopped  because  it 
was  getting  too  hot  to  stand  so  far  down.  Wasn't  tired, 
not  a  bit,  nor  anything  else.     Oh,  I  can  do  heaps  of 


20    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

things,  you've  no  idea.  Why,  just  at  this  very  moment, 
with  a  well  just  starting,  I'm  tangled  up  in  a  love 
affair  at  the  same  time.  Manage  both  as  easy  as 
winking." 

"  Look  here,  Sivert,"  said  Hedvig,  "  we'll  say  nothing 
about  the  well,  whether  you  can  or  you  can't.  But 
don't  come  telling  me  there's  ever  a  girl  that'd  have  you. 
That's  too  much." 

Here  Egholm  interposed. 

"  Have  him  ?     Lord,  yes,  the  girl's  only  too  pleased." 

"  Who  is  it,  then  ?  " 

Sivert  blinked  his  eye  with  an  air  of  mystery  and 
did  not  answer,  but  his  father  coughed,  and  said  : 

"  Well,  he  doesn't  know  himself  yet,  to  tell  the 
truth.  Ahem  ...  I  haven't  told  him  yet — there's  no 
hurry  about  that.  But  I  don't  mind  saying  she's  a 
very  good  girl — a  fitting  mate  for  Sivert  in  every  way, 
and  more.  Daughter  of  one  Bisserup,  deceased.  I 
don't  remember  her  Christian  name." 

It  was  rarely  that  a  free  and  joyful  laugh  was  heard 
in  Egholm's  house.  But  at  the  moment  he  mentioned 
Bisserup's  name,  all  saw  at  once  the  most  ridiculous 
figure  in  the  town,  the  draggled,  blind,  dilapidated 
scarecrow  whose  breeches  hung  down  behind  to  his 
hocks.  And  next  moment  came  the  vision  of  his 
daughter  Petrea,  in  short  skirts  and  sloppy  cloth  shoes. 
All  of  them,  the  mother,  Sivert,  Hedvig,  and  Emanuel, 
burst  out  laughing,  and  it  was  minutes  before  they 
recovered. 

Egholm  tried  to  call  them  to  order. 

"  Never  mind  what  you  say — it's  a  match  for  Sivert, 
and  a  match  it's  going  to  be." 

Sivert  enjoyed  the  joke  hugely.  With  a  comically 
serious  air  he  said  : 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     21 

"  There,  now  !  And  I  was  just  wishing  and  hoping 
it  might  be  her  !  She'll  be  nice  to  think  of  when  I'm  far 
deep  down  in  my  lovers'  well  !  " 

But  Hedvig  felt  suddenly  out  of  spirits.  Her  face, 
flushed  with  laughing,  lost  its  colour,  and  her  cup 
rattled  in  its  saucer  as  she  said,  with  an  attempt  at 
composure  : 

"  You  surely  don't  mean  to  have  that  brushmaker 
into  the  family  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  forget  that  Bisserup's  dead  and 
buried  long  ago." 

"  And  if  he  is,  they'll  still  remember  him  for  ages 
to  come  in  the  place — how  he  used  to  go  about  as  a 
laughing-stock  everywhere,  stinking  of  filth  and  rags, 
and  hanging  on  to  Petrea's  skirts  with  his  great  ugly 
fist." 

"  It's  not  our  place  to  visit  the  sins  of  the  father 
upon  the  children." 

"  Petrea  herself 's  as  bad  as  her  father,  or  worse. 
And  she's  half  mad  herself,  too,  and  ..." 

"  And  how  many  do  you  think'd  be  found  all  sane, 
if  it  came  to  the  point  ?  Anyhow,  it  doesn't  show  if 
they  are." 

"  Perhaps  you'll  say  it  doesn't  show  that  her  neck's 
all  awry  ?  " 

"  Only  on  one  side." 

"  That's  meant  to  be  funny,  I  suppose  !  I've  seen  a 
lot  of  funny  things,  but  never  anything  so  utterly  mad 
as  this." 

Hedvig  had  risen  to  her  feet  ;  her  face  was  perfectly 
white.     Her  mother  nudged  her  from  behind. 

"  How  dare  you,  girl  !  "  said  her  father  threateningly, 
but  with  a  certain  uneasiness  in  his  voice. 

"  Dare  !     I'm  simply  talking  sense,  that's  all.     But 


22     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

you,  you  fancy  every  wild  idea  that  comes  into  your 
head's  to  be  carried  out,  though  it  drags  you  and  mother 
and  the  rest  of  us  in  the  dirt.  And  you've  no  sort  of 
right  to." 

It  looked  as  if  the  scene  would  end,  as  so  often  before, 
in  Egholm's  turning  furious  and  doing  ugly  things.  But 
this  time  it  was  not  so.  Egholm  was  grown  more 
restrained  now  in  various  ways.  He  sat  down  facing 
them,  and  talked  the  matter  over  quietly,  even  with  a 
sort  of  irony. 

"  So  you  think  I  make  a  mess  of  things  on  every 
possible  occasion  ?  You  consider  I  have  played  my 
cards  with  utter  lack  of  skill — and  that  after  I've  worked 
my  way  up  from  the  depths  of  poverty  to  the  possession 
of  a  house  and  garden — not  exactly  a  palace,  perhaps, 
but  yet  good  enough  for  you  to  honour  it  with  your 
presence  now  and  then — to  a  business  that  gives  us  a 
livelihood,  and  a  name  which  in  certain  quarters  is 
held  good  enough  for  some  degree  of  credit  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  that,  father.  I  know  you've  got  on. 
Nobody  can  see  that  better  than  I  can.  But — but, 
after  all,  is  it  so  much  your  own  doing  ?  "  (Here 
Hedvig  flushed  a  little.)  "  I  mean,  I  don't  think  you've 
looked  after  it  as  well  as  you  might.  Not  as  much  as 
you  did,  say,  with  that  steam-turbine  that  you  fancied 
you'd  invented.  You  were  always  running  down  to  the 
sea  all  hours  of  the  day,  until  the  whole  thing  burst  up 
and  went  to  pieces.  Huh  !  And  Madam  Hermansen's 
bad  leg,  that  you  tried  to  cure  with  jelly-fish  and  messy 
things  and  saying  prayers,  and  it's  only  got  ever  so 
much  worse.  And  there's  heaps  of  things  .  .  .  your 
own  ideas  and  fancies,  you  don't  mind  working  for 
them.  But  as  for  the  business,  it  just  looks  after 
itself." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     23 

Egholm  was  evidently  struck  by  her  words,  but  he 
only  said  : 

"  It's  hard,  indeed,  to  have  your  own  flesh  and  blood 
turn  against  you  like  this.  As  for  the  steam-turbine,  I 
did  invent  it.  It  worked,  as  true  as  I'm  alive.  Sivert 
was  there  at  the  time.  But  I  sacrificed  it  to  God.  He 
had  given  me  a  sign  that  it  did  not  suit  His  purpose  to 
have  it  known  as  yet.  As  for  Madam  Hermansen's 
leg,  there  are  difficulties  there,  I  admit,  but  I  haven't 
given  up  hope.  I  seek  and  work  and  plague  myself 
for  the  benefit  of  others.  My  inventions — aren't  they 
all  simply  designed  to  bring  in  money  to  make  things 
easier  for  you  all  ?  And  then  you  talk  about  mad 
fancies,  and  that's  all  the  thanks  I  get  !  " 

"  And  your  last  mad  fancy — I  suppose  you'll  say 
that's  all  for  our  good  as  well  ?  " 

"  My  last  ?     Which  .  .  .  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  about  Sivert  and  Bisserup's  girl." 

"  Why,  so  it  is.     And  in  more  ways  than  one." 

"  Huh  !  " 

"  But  of  course  a  scatter-brained  chit  of  a  girl  like 
you  can't  see  it.  The  girl — she  gets  married,  which  is 
the  destiny  of  woman.  Sivert  is  elevated  from  the 
status  of  a  loafer  to  the  dignity  of  a  family  man.  And 
finally — well,  finally,  I  may  say  I  don't  consider  it 
altogether  a  mad  idea  to  get  a  little  money  into  the 
family." 

"  She's  as  rich  as  a  countess,"  said  Sivert,  with  a 
chuckle.     "  Didn't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  said  his  father  proudly. 

"  Saved  up  out  of  what  they  got  from  the  parish,  I 
suppose  ?  "  said  Hedvig. 

"  Quite  possibly,"  answered  Egholm,  unmoved. 
"  It's  no  business  of  ours  to  inquire  into  the  sources  of 


24     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

their  wealth.  All  we  need  trouble  about  is  to  pocket 
what  falls  to  our  share.  They  say  her  mattress  is 
stuffed  half  and  half  with  notes.    I've  heard  it  said.  .  .  ." 

Hedvig  marked  how  her  father's  eyes  glittered. 
And  in  a  flash  she  remembered  how  they  had  ghttered 
with  just  that  look  ever  since  she  was  a  child,  as  often 
as  any  question  of  money  arose.  And  a  tumult  of 
disgust  and  indignation  rose  in  her,  as  she  realised  that 
no  power  on  earth  could  deter  him  now  from  this  last 
shameless  plan  of  his.  How  he  proposed  to  bring  it 
about,  and  what  foundations  there  might  be  for  his 
confidence,  she  had  no  idea,  but  her  heart  shrank  at  the 
thought  of  having  the  whole  town  jeering  once  more  at 
this  new  lunacy  on  her  father's  part. 

She  sprang  up  with  a  jerk,  went  to  the  piano  and 
put  on  her  jacket.  Then,  speaking  with  a  firmness  and 
emphasis  that  gave  her  words  an  almost  prophetic 
weight,  she  said  : 

"  Well,  it's  been  a  lovely  evening,  I'm  sure.  I  came 
home  here  because  I'd  a  grand  and  wonderful  surprise 
for  you,  father.  But  you  cut  the  ground  from  under  my 
feet  with  your  own.  A  beautiful  surprise  you  had  for 
me,  wasn't  it  ? — a  half-witted,  wiy-necked  sister-in-law, 
of  most  respected  family.  vSo  there's  no  need  to  trouble 
about  my  news  now.     It  might  be  too  much  all  at  once." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  now  ?  "  asked  her 
father  gently.  He  was  always  ready  to  listen  to  any- 
thing that  savoured  of  mystery.  "  If  you've  anything 
to  say  worth  sa3ang,  out  with  it.  It's  the  least  yow.  can 
do  after  the  way  you've  been  going  on." 

"  No  !  "  said  Hedvig,  quivering  all  over.  "  No. 
I'm  going.  And  the  lovely  surprise  I  had  for  you,  I'll 
bury  it  deep,  never  fear.  And  take  good  care  it's  never 
found" 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     25 

"  Why,  then — there's  the  door,"  said  her  father  in 
the  same  gentle  voice.  But  this  time  there  was  an 
undertone  of  something  darkly  threatening.  "  Mind 
the  step  !  " 

Hedvig  went  back  to  the  Toldbod,  and  up  to  her 
room,  opening  the  window  wide  to  cool  her  cheeks.  It 
was  late  when  she  undressed,  and  sat  again  for  a  little 
on  her  bed,  her  teeth  chattering  with  cold.  Then  she 
got  up  and  moved  to  draw  the  window  to. 

"  Hedvig,"  called  a  voice  from  below.     It  was  Si  vert. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  stop  bothering  about  the  old  man's 
nonsense.  I  only  backed  him  up  because  of  the  coffee 
and  sitting  in  there.  D'you  think  I  ever  meant  it 
about  Petrea  ?  No,  thank  goodness  I'm  a  sight  too 
conceited  myself  for  that !  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  miserable  coward  you  are.  Si  vert." 

"  I  am  an  awful  coward,  I  know.  But  I'm  awfully 
clever  too.  I  just  say  Amen-so-be-it  to  it  all,  so  I  can 
go  about  at  home  just  as  I  please  and  he  never  says 
a  word.  Think  I'd  be  married  to  Petrea  ?  Never  ! 
Who'd  ask  her,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Do  you  think 
I'd  dare,  even  if  I  wanted  to  ?  " 

Hedvig  laughed  a  little  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  No  !  There  you  are  !  "  said  Si  vert  joyfully.  "  I 
wouldn't  dare,  not  to  save  my  life.  But  what  does  it 
matter  anyway  ?  We  rub  along  all  right  as  it  is  ;  I  get 
all  I  want  to  eat,  and  sing  as  much  as  I  please,  and 
dig  away  at  ever  so  deep  wells,  just  for  the  show  of  it. 
And  all  the  time  I'm  dreaming  of  true  love  in  heaven 
and  earth.  I've  Hfted  up  my  eyes  to  a  daughter  of  the 
fancy  drapery,  no  less." 

"  Well,  well,  Sivert,  it's  all  right.  But  get  along 
now ;  I'm  cold." 


26    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  But  d'you  know  who  it  is  I've  chosen  ?  Minna 
Lund.  By  the  celebrated  Lord  Almighty,  I  swear  it. 
Minna  Lund  and  no  other.     Madness,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  you're  mad  right  enough.  But  .  .  . 
Good-night,  Sivert." 

"  Anyhow,  mad  or  not  mad,  she's  to  be  my  bride  ! 
One  fine  day  you'll  see  me  as  a  son-in-law  of  the  fancy 
drapery,  and  what  will  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  If  you're  as  ambitious  as  all  that,  the  sooner  you 
stop  gadding  about  at  nights  like  a  vagabond,  the 
better." 

"  I  can't  sleep.  Haven't  slept  aU  day  for  all  the 
worry  and  speculating  about  it — and  after  a  sleepless  day 
I  never  can  sleep  at  night.  I'm  going  down  to  the 
harbour  now,  and  light  the  end  of  my  cigar  at  the  lantern 
on  the  mole.  Farewell,  dear  sister  mine.  So  glad  you 
said  that  about  being  a  vagabond  because  of  going  for 
a  walk  at  night.  I  met  Johan  Fors  only  a  few  minutes 
back.  Out  with  his  viohn  and  all.  So  that's  two  vaga- 
bonds out  vagabonding  to-night — what  ?  " 

Hedvig  drew  back  hastily,  flushed  with  a  sweet 
warmth.  Johan  Fors.  ...  Ah  !  His  name  was  enough 
to  make  her  dizzy,  make  her  forget  all  else  in  the  world. 
She  sat  up  in  bed  with  the  clothes  pulled  up  to  her  chin, 
and  her  legs  curled  under  her.  So  Johan  Fors  was 
abroad  to-night  ?  Johan  Fors — there  was  a  sort  of 
strength  about  the  name.  And  he  was  strong,  yes. 
That  brown,  powerful  neck  of  his — what  did  it  matter 
that  he  wore  no  collar  ?  And  as  for  the  spots  of  paint 
all  over  his  clothes,  why,  that  too  was  a  delight.  When 
she  told  him  about  it :  "  Ugh,  what  a  mess  your  clothes 
are  in,"  he  would  look  down  at  his  dreadfully  smeared 
waistcoat  and  ask  innocently,  "  Where  ? "  Hedvig 
laughs  happily  under  the  bedclothes,  her  heart  full  of 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     27 

Johan  Fors.  Her  ice-cold  feet  come  gradually  back 
to  life,  as  she  shifts  them  alternately  one  over  the  other. 

Malersvend,^  she  thinks  to  herself  again — oh,  but  he 
is  a  kingly  Malersvend  (the  words,  kongelig  Malersvend, 
have  a  sort  of  charm  about  them,  and  she  repeats  them 
proudly).  He  had  been  in  Italy  and  [in  France.  The 
other  painters  took  off  their  hats  to  him  in  the  street. 
Ay,  and  the  masters  too.  And  then  he  would  take  off 
his  broad-brimmed  hat  again.  If  he  happened  to 
be  wearing  it,  that  is.  Johan  Fors  often  went  about 
without  a  hat.  And  no  wonder,  with  such  a  head  of 
hair.     Like  a  helmet  in  itself,  set  grandly  on  behind. 

Hedvig  thinks  with  delicious  recollection  of  something 
Johan  Fors  had  said  to  her  one  day  about  the  way  she 
walked.  And  then  of  his  music,  that  every  one  agreed 
was  wonderful.  Hedvig  herself  has  never  heard  it, 
but  he  has  promised  to  play  for  her  one  day.  He  never 
plays  for  anyone,  they  say.  And  that  is  why  he  goes 
wandering  off  to  the  woods,  or  down  to  the  shore,  at 
night,  with  his  violin  in  a  leather  bag.  Hedvig  would 
love  to  be  a  wild  creature  in  the  woods,  or  a  little  bird 
in  a  tree,  to  wake  at  his  playing,  and  sit  all  night  unseen 
under  a  leaf  and  listen. 

But  then,  suppose  she  were  to  move,  and  he  dis- 
covered her  !  He  would  not  know  who  it  was  !  He 
would  be  furious,  snatch  up  his  gun  .  .  .  Hedvig  sees 
herself  looking  down  into  the  blackness  of  a  gun-barrel, 
and,  above  it,  one  of  Johan  Fors'  blue  eyes  fixed  on  her. 
An  instant  more,  and  the  shot  rings  out,  and  with  a 
thrill  of  dehcious  terror  she  realises  that  she  is  dead. 

No,  not  dead.  Only  awake  now.  She  sits  up  in  bed, 
marvelling  to  think  how  real  it  seemed.  She  had 
actually  seen  the  flash  when  he  fired.     And  she  had 

^  journeyman  painter,  as  distinct  from  his  master,  "  Malermester." 


28    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

heard  his  violin.  Why,  she  could  hear  it  still !  What — 
what  was  this  ?  She  leaps  out  of  bed  and  runs  to  the 
window.  The  music  is  still  there.  And  there — she 
can  see  quite  clearly — by  the  wall  of  the  church  stands 
Johan  Fors  with  his  violin,  his  face  turned  towards  her. 

From  Hr.  van  Haag's  bedroom  close  by  comes  the 
sound  of  a  window  fastening.  And  Hedvig  realises 
that  he  must  have  pulled  the  window  to  with  a  bang — 
hence  her  dream  of  the  gun. 

Johan  Fors  has  seen  her  now.  He  waves  his  big 
hat  and  comes  a  few  steps  nearer.  The  music  spatters 
from  the  strings — a  strange  melody,  that  sets  Hedvig 
trembling. 

The  man  in  the  churchyard  plays  and  plays,  playing 
the  grey  sleepy  night  to  shreds.  His  bow  races  and 
flashes  furiously  over  the  strings,  till  at  last  he  throws 
out  a  sparkling  shower  of  melody,  and  then  all  dies 
away  in  one  long,  breathless  note  from  end  to  end  of  the 
bow.     Then  quickly  he  turns  and  moves  away. 

Hedvig  strains  her  eyes  to  see — and  marks  with 
shame  that  her  eyes  are  very  wet.  A  little  after,  as 
she  was  going  back  to  bed,  came  Johan  Fors'  voice 
below. 

"  Hedvig  !     Did  you  hear  me  playing,  Hedvig  ?  " 

"  Yes  " — ^in  a  whisper. 

"  Did  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  I  made  that  up  myself.  It  didn't  sound  properly, 
because  the  strings  are  all  damp.  But  that  wasn't  why 
I  stopped.  Some  one  looked  out  of  the  window  next 
door.  So  I  stopped.  There  are  three  pieces  really — 
they  go  together.  I'll  come  up  and  play  the  rest. 
Throw  me  down  the  key,  and  I'll  come." 

Hedvig  slips  on  some  clothes  and  goes  down  herself. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     29 

"  Why  didn't  you  throw  me  the  key  ?  "  asks  Johan 
Fors.     "  Now  your  feet  '11  be  cold." 

Hedvig's  heart  swelled  at  the  little  thoughtful 
kindness,  leaving  no  room  for  any  suspicion.  And  it 
seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  let  Johan 
Fors  draw  her  to  him  and  kiss  her.  His  cheek  was 
wet  and  cold. 

"  Now  go  back  to  bed  while  I  play.  Could  you  hear 
the  first  one  was  about  the  birds  of  passage  coming 
again  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  ..."  No,  Hedvig  feels  she  dare  not. 
There — what  a  noise  his  step  makes  in  the  passage. 

"  Right — we'll  stay  down  here,"  he  agrees  at  once, 
and  takes  out  his  violin  again. 

"  No,  no,  you  mustn't  play  now  !  " 

"  Mustn't  play  ?  "  he  echoes  in  astonishment. 

"  No,  no,  you  mustn't.  They'd  hear  it  all  over  the 
house,  and  somebody'd  come." 

"  Well,  what  if  they  do  ?  Don't  you  want  to  hear 
the  next  one  about  the  birds  of  passage  finding  their  old 
place  again  ?  " 

"  Not  now.     Oh,  not  now." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  made  those  pieces  up  myself. 
They  aren't  by  anybody  else.  I  got  the  end  of  the  last 
two  to-night,  and  I  don't  mind  telling  you  they're 
splendid." 

"  Yes,  but  not  now." 

"  Now,  didn't  you  ask  me  yourself  to  play  for  you, 
and  say  any  time  would  suit  you  ?  It  suits  me  now, 
for  now  they're  finished,  and  now  we'll  go  up  and  hear 
them." 

"  No  !  Oh,  you  must  be  mad.  Fancy  coming  here 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  playing  to  people  when  they're 
in  bed." 


30     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Hedvig  was  on  the  verge  of  laughter,  and  incUned 
to  say  something  ridiculous.  But  Johan  broke  in 
harshly  : 

"  Then  you're  not  what  I  thought  you  were." 

Hedvig's  lips  trembled,  as  she  said  : 

"  Another  time,  if  you  like." 

"  There'll  never  be  another  time." 

"  Oh,  but  can't  you  understand  .  .  ." 

"  I  understand  all  right." 

"  Well,  then  .  .  ." 

"  I  understand  I've  come  to  the  wrong  place,  that's 
all." 

"  Not  the  wrong  place,  Johan— only  the  wrong 
time  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  have.     The  girl  I  came  to  see's  not  here." 

Hedvig's  teeth  were  chattering  with  cold  and 
emotion. 

"  Wasn't  it  me  you  came  to  see,  then  ?  "  She 
noticed  herself  that  she  called  him  "  De"  instead  of 
"  Du,"  1  and  the  shght  change  seemed  to  bring  an  icy 
coldness  with  it. 

Johan  looked  at  her  and  looked  away.  Hedvig 
could  not  see  his  eyes,  but  when  he  spoke  his  voice 
was  rough  and  harsh,  making  her  inwardly  helpless. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  It  wasn't  you  I  came  to  see.  I 
came  to  see  a  girl  that  I  could  love,  and  play  for  a  little. 
Not  an  empty  nightdress  like  you — no,  nor  a  silly  little 
goose  like  you  either  !  " 

Hedvig  turned  and  walked  away  on  her  bare  feet 
But  Johan's  words  pursued  her,  nudging  her  as  it  were 
from  behind,  till  she  almost  stumbled. 

"  I  don't  care  about  you  a  bit.  You're  nothing. 
Yes,    you    are    something.     And    I'll    teU    you    what. 

1  i.e.  using  the  more  formal  mode  of  address. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     31 

You're  just  as  ordinary  as  anybody  else.  That's  what 
you  are.  Like  a  paving-stone  in  a  stone  pavement, 
that's  what  you  are.  Remember  that.  There's 
thousands  just  hke  you — thousands  !  " 

Hedvig  heard  no  more.     She  found  her  way  to  her 
room,  and  flung  herself  on  the  bed. 


Ill 


SIVERT  thrust  his  angular  legs  unwillingly  out 
of  bed,  yawned  enormously,  and  stretched  him- 
self. The  sun  was  sparkling  in  at  his  attic 
window.  He  looked  round  searchingly  ;  here  he  was 
once  more,  bumped  out  of  his  own  comfortable  world 
where  sleep  and  dreams  were  supreme,  into  cold-blooded, 
hostile  earth.  There  lay  his  clothes,  in  limp,  scattered 
heaps  ;  now  he  would  have  to  get  into  them,  and  take 
up  the  struggle  for  hfe  once  more.  Ah  me  !  Had  his 
father  gone,  he  wondered,  so  he  could  hope  for  a  cup 
of  coffee  in  peace  with  his  mother  ?  Oh,  if  a  man  could 
only  sleep  undisturbed  for  a  hundred  years !  Sivert 
had  dreamed  most  wondrously  that  night,  of  wandering 
round  in  the  apartments  of  Kobmand  Lund,  holding 
Minna  by  the  hand,  while  her  father,  little  Lund  himself, 
laid  his  head  on  one  side  and  watched  them,  a  picture 
of  smiling  goodwill.  And  Sivert  had  been  elegantly 
dressed  that  night — in  his  green  suit.  The  recollection 
of  it  drove  him  to  the  wardrobe,  to  enjo\^  the  sight  of 
it  in  reality.  Yes,  there  it  was.  But  alas  !  there  it 
would  have  to  stay. 

Then  suddenly  came  a  bright  idea.  With  shaking 
hand  he  takes  down  the  precious  suit,  pulls  on  the 
trousers  backwards,  as  if  stealing  into  them  by  a  hidden 
way,  puts  on  the  waistcoat  stealthily,  and  steals 
into  the  jacket  ;    then,   having  routed  out   collar   and 

tie  from  a  drawer,   he  stands  before  the  little  mirror. 

32 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     38 

laughing    delightedly   at  his    plan,  and   muttering    to 
himself  : 

"  Devil  take  it,  if  I  can't  propose  I  might  at  least 
pretend  to\" 

Egholm  came  home  just  as  Si  vert  came  down  the 
stairs  from  the  attic.  He  noticed  the  unwonted  splendour 
at  once,  and  started.  He  frowned  at  first,  but  his  brow 
cleared,  and  he  said  : 

"  That's  right.     You  remember  what  we  agreed." 

This  fairly  started  Sivert  on  his  facile  descent ; 
retreat  was  no  longer  possible. 

For  the  present  everything  went  swimmingly. 
His  father  indicated  with  a  motion  of  the  hand  that 
Sivert  might  sit  down  at  table  and  have  his  meal  with 
him. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  say  to  her  ?  "  he  asked. 
His  eyes  were  alight  with  eagerness  to  take  up  the 
task. 

Sivert  reached  out  boldly  and  helped  himself  to 
food  ;  he  felt  he  was  a  person  of  importance  at  the 
moment. 

"  ril  manage  it  easily  ;  you  leave  it  to  me." 

"  But  how  are  you  going  to  begin  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  begin  at  all." 

"  What  do  you  ...  ?  " 

Sivert  emptied  his  mouth,  smiled  shyly,  and  half 
rose  from  his  seat. 

"I'm  all  dressed  up  in  my  green  suit,"  he  said. 
"  Isn't  that  enough  ?  " 

"  Oh,  splendid  !  I  forgot.  And  so  you'll  just  show 
yourself,  as  it  were,  and  let  the  sight  of  you  do  the 
rest  ?  " 

"  The  sight  of  me  will  do  it  all,"  said  Sivert. 

"  Excellent.     And  then  ?  " 
3 


34    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Why,  then,  I  take  it  she  will  begin." 

Si  vert's  faculties  were  concentrated  to  the  full  on 
the  business  of  the  moment,  to  wit,  of  eating.  He 
answered  at  hazard,  trusting  to  the  inspiration  of  the 
moment,  without  seeing  a  step  beyond. 

"  You've  the  making  of  a  general  in  you,  my  boy." 

"  By  the  grace  of  God,"  said  Si  vert  solemnly,  swallow- 
ing a  huge  mouthful,  "  I  hope  to  do  you  credit  in  this 
affair." 

Fru  Egholm  came  in  from  the  kitchen. 

"  If  you  ask  me,  I  think  you'd  better  let  it  keep  for 
a  bit,  and  see  how  things  go,"  she  said,  referring  to  the 
proposed  proposal. 

"  Let  it  keep  ?  Whatever  for  ?  It's  the  early 
bird,  you  know  .  .  ." 

"  The  early  bird's  apt  to  get  caught  for  his  pains 
if  he  doesn't  look  what  he's  doing." 

"  If  you've  nothing  but  that  sort  of  nonsense  to  say, 
you'd  better  keep  out  of  it.  Sivert  needs  encourage- 
ment, not  old  wives'  foolery." 

"  Well,  well,  just  as  you  please." 

"  Who's  that  outside  there  ?  "  Egholm  had  caught 
a  scraping  of  feet  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Oh,  nobody,"  said  Fru  Egholm  uneasily. 

But  just  at  that  moment  Hedvig  herself  came  in, 
pale  and  red-eyed  after  the  events  of  the  night.  Her 
father  drew  himself  up  sternly,  but  Hedvig  tried  to 
smile. 

"  And  what  brings  you  here,  young  lady,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  ask  you,  father,"  said  Hedvig,  the  smile 
on  her  face  flickering  up  and  vanishing  like  the  flame  of 
a  lamp  run  dry — "  I  came  to  ask  you  if  we  hadn't  better 
make  it  a  bargain,  with  the  business  we  spoke  of  last 
night  ?  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG  35 

"  I've  no  recollection  of  any  business  last  night." 

"  I  mean,  the  surprise  I've  got  for  you,  if  you'll  give 
up  all  idea  of  making  a  scandal  with  Sivert  and  Petrea 
Bis." 

"  Er — h'm !  A  surprise,  you  say.  Is  it  anything 
of  money  value  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,  but  .  .  ." 

"  It  would  take  twenty  thousand  Kroner  to  make  it 
a  bargain.  That's  the  amount  of  Petrea's  fortune,  at 
least." 

That  "  at  least  "  filled  Hedvig  with  indignation  anew, 
and  froze  the  last  of  her  smile.  It  meant  that  her 
father  was  stiU  building  unfounded  castles  in  the  blackest 
dark.  She  had  worked  out  two  ways  of  averting  the 
disaster.  One  was  to  make  a  joke  of  it,  by  calhng  it  a 
bargain.  If  only  she  could  have  made  her  father  smile, 
much  would  have  been  gained.  But  this  attempt  had 
failed.  Her  one  alternative  was  to  throw  herself  at  his 
feet  and  beg  of  him  to  refrain,  A  woman  always  reckons 
with  the  possibihty  of  getting  what  she  wants  by 
favour.  Now,  under  her  father's  merciless  eye,  favours 
were  evidently  nowhere,  and  she  cast  the  idea  aside 
contemptuously.  She  turned  to  Sivert,  who,  with 
downcast  eyes,  had  continued  his  meal  without  slacken- 
ing speed. 

"  Sivert,"  she  said  entreatingly,  "  you  remember 
what  you  promised  ?  " 

Sivert  giggled  evasively.     "  What  promise  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  stand  outside  my  window  last  night 
and  swear  you'd  have  nothing  to  do  with  all  this  ?  " 
said  Hedvig  passionately. 

"  Last  night  .  .  .  ?  " 

"Oh,  you  remember  well  enough  !  " 

"  What  did  I  look  hke  ?  " 


36    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  You  looked  like  the  miserable  little  beast  that  you 
are  !  " 

"  You've  got  hold  of  the  wrong  little  beast,  I  think. 
Was  it  me  with  a  violin,  you  mean,  scraping  away  so 
merrily  among  the  tombstones  ?  And  you  stood  at  the 
window  in  your  nightdress,  and  came  down  afterwards 
and  let  me  into  the  Toldbod's  sacred  walls  ?  And  did 
I  say  I  was  a  painter,  and  my  name  Johan  ?  " 

Hedvig  felt  a  venomous  tooth  at  her  very  heart  ; 
the  poison  almost  stupefied  her.  She  drew  a  deep 
breath  or  so,  and  would  have  spoken  ;  then,  bowing  her 
head,  she  walked  out.  Her  mother  called  to  her, 
"  Hedvig,  dear  ..."  but  she  went  on  without  looking 
back. 

Egholm  turned  to  Si  vert.  "  What  was  that  about 
last  night  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  she's  off  her  head,  and  seeing  ghosts.  And 
then  to  come  along  here  and  spoil  things  when  we  were 
as  comfortable  as  could  be.  ..." 

Somehow  the  comfortableness  of  things  seemed  to 
have  vanished.  Some  one  came  to  be  "  taken."  And 
Egholm's  face  wrinkled  nervously,  irritably.  Nothing 
wore  down  his  strength  more  than  the  business  of  his 
profession.  He  never  got  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  habit. 
There  was  some  pecuharity  about  his  brain  which  made 
him  invent,  as  it  were,  the  whole  science  of  photo- 
graphy for  every  plate  he  exposed,  and  as  photography 
had  long  since  ceased  to  interest  him,  the  invention  cost 
him  untold  mental  effort.  Egholm  invented  walking 
every  time  he  crossed  the  room  ;  he  invented  mastication 
at  every  meal ;  but  these  things,  and  indeed  all  else,  were 
a  constant  source  of  interest  to  himself.  Only  photo- 
graphy— which  by  ill-luck  was  just  the  thing  he  had  to 
live  by — bored  him  unspeakably. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     37 

After  going  into  the  waiting-room  and  inviting  two 
peasant  girls  in  their  best  finery  to  be  seated,  his  feeling 
towards  Sivert  changed. 

"  Why  haven't  you  gone  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You 
make  such  a  beastly  noise  over  your  food — I  don't  want 
to  hear  it  any  more." 

Sivert's  mouth  was  absolutely  crammed  at  the 
moment  ;  he  swallowed  the  mass  without  chewing  it, 
and  the  Adam's  apple  in  his  throat,  big  enough  at  the 
best  of  times,  jumped  like  a  rat  in  a  sack. 

"  Half  a  minute,"  he  said.  "  Before  I  go — wouldn't 
you  say,  now,  I'm  quite  decent-looking — what  ?  " 

His  father  looked  him  up  and  down  coldly. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  shouldn't.  You  look  like  an 
abominable  home-made  idiot." 

"  Well,  then,  don't  you  think — we  might  as  well  give 
it  up  ?  " 

"  Give  it  up  !  You  hold  your  tongue,  and  be  off  with 
you  this  minute  !  " 

"  Then  you'd  better  lend  me  a  Krone,  to — well,  to 
improve  my  appearance." 

"  Blackmail !  Oh,  well,  here  you  are,  and  be  off  with 
you.  And  if  you're  not  back  here  in  an  hour's  time 
with  something  sensible  to  report,  I'll  .  .  ." 

Egholm  carried  the  unspoken  threat  into  his  dark 
room.  But  Sivert  felt  himself  consigned  to  something 
darker  still. 

Two  hours  later — dinner  -  time.  Emanuel  comes 
home  from  school,  and  learns  of  the  morning's  happen- 
ings from  his  mother.  Now  and  again  Egholm  him- 
self passes  restlessly  through  the  kitchen,  frowning  in 
evident  anxiety.  Fru  Egholm  and  Emanuel  lapse  into 
silence  while  he  is  near.  Now  that  the  plan  is  actually 
on  foot,  there  seems  nothing  amusing  about  it  at  all. 


38  THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Where  is  Sivert  all  this  time  ?  Thrown  himself  into  the 
sea,  perhaps,  finding  no  other  way  of  escape.  And 
Hedvig — will  she  lose  her  place  when  the  scandal  is 
known  ?  Fru  Egholm  is  filled  with  bitter  thoughts  as 
she  moves  among  her  pots  and  pans,  running  her  fingers 
through  her  hair  from  time  to  time.  And  yet,  she 
cannot  but  admit  that  this  is  a  mere  nothing  compared 
with  what  she  has  been  through  before. 

Egholm's  manner  gives  no  clue  to  what  is  in  his  mind. 
At  the  moment  he  is  seated  at  his  table,  head  buried 
in  his  hands,  brooding  heavily. 

Emanuel  plucks  his  mother  by  the  sleeve.  She 
glances  round :  outside,  under  the  cherry  tree,  stands 
Sivert  himself.  Sivert,  Ump  and  miserable,  looking  up 
at  the  house. 

They  sign  to  him  encouragingly,  but  he  shakes  his 
head. 

Then  suddenly  Egholm  rises  to  his  feet  and  goes  to 
the  door.  He  catches  sight  of  Sivert  at  once,  and  goes 
towards  him  with  heavy  steps. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  there  ?  "  he  asks 
furiously.  "  Anyone'd  think  you'd  hanged  yourself,  and 
been  cut  down  too  soon." 

Why  doesn't  he  run  away  ?   thought  Emanuel. 

Sivert  did  not  run  away.  His  lips  parted  in  a 
generous  but  uncomfortable  smile,  and  he  said  : 

"  Must  have  time  to  get  over  it  a  bit,  you  know." 

His  father  stared  at  him  blankly. 

"  Well,  you'd  better  come  in,  anyway.  Give  him 
something  to  eat  I  " 

Sivert  straightened  himself  up  and  followed  his 
father  into  the  house,  exchanging  uncomprehending 
glances  with  his  mother  and  Emanuel. 

"  Well,  what  did  you  say  to  her  ?     Hurry  up  !  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    39 

"  Oh,  heaps  of  things.  Quite  an  interesting  con- 
versation." 

"  Did  you  say  anything  about  her  father's  funeral  ? 
That's  what  I  should  have  started  with." 

"  Yes,  that's  just  what  I  did  too." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  talked  about  that  for  a  bit  It  was  a 
first-rate  coffin,  she  said,  at  the  price.  Good  solid  bit  of 
work." 

"  A  pretty  conversation,  with  the  pair  of  you !  Go 
on!" 

"  Then  I  asked  what  it  cost — fifty  Kr.  And  where 
they  got  it — from  Andreasen's.  If  it  was  black  ?  And 
how  many  handles — eight." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  all  very  well.  But  get  along.  What 
about  the  proposal  ?     How  did  you  set  about  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  didn't  set  about  it  much." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  man,  what  did  you  do,  then  ?  " 

Here  Fru  Egholm  interposed.  The  boy  must  have 
time  to  swallow  a  mouthful  of  food. 

Egholm  waited  a  few  minutes ;  then,  with  a  sudden 
suspicion,  he  burst  out  violently  : 

"  You  scoundrel,  you  haven't  been  there  at  all !  " 

Sivert  thrust  one  hand  into  his  pocket,  drew  out  a 
brand-new  scrubbing-brush,  and  set  it  down  without  a 
word  in  front  of  his  father's  plate. 

"  By  Heaven,  but  he  has  !  "  said  Egholm,  completely 
appeased  by  the  proof.  And  he  remained  patiently 
silent  until  Sivert  had  finished  his  meal. 

Fru  Egholm  began  clearing  the  things  away  ;  Sivert 
leaned  back  on  the  settee. 

"  Funny  thing,  isn't  it,"  he  began.  "  But  I've  clean 
forgotten  it  all  now." 

"  Oh,  don't  worry  him  now,"  said  his  mother.     "  A 


40    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

young  man's  always  bashful  about  such  things,  and 
natural  enough  too." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  about  '  such  things  '  at  all. 
But  surely  he  can  tell  us  whether  it  went  off  all  right  or 
not." 

"  Well,  it  went  off  really  better  than  I'd  ever 
dreamed." 

"  She  said  yes  ?  For  Heaven's  sake,  man,  can't  you 
say  yes  or  no  ? 

Sivert  began  to  show  signs  of  anger.  He  had  eaten 
all  he  could,  so  there  was  nothing  to  lose  in  that 
respect. 

"  It's  no  good  shouting  like  that,"  he  said ;  "  order- 
ing a  fellow  about.  You're  very  clever,  no  doubt,  but  you 
don't  know  a  thing  about  proposing  and  mysteries  of 
that  sort.  Perhaps  you  did  in  the  days  of  the  ancients, 
when  you  were  young — but  you  don't  now.  I  went 
there  to  propose,  and  that's  the  truth.  And  then  she 
comes  sliding  in  in  her  cloth  shoes,  and  her  head  on 
one  side  like  a  lame  duck  in  a  thunderstorm.  All  well 
and  good.  But  in  the  back  room  behind  the  shop  there 
was  her  mother  in  bed  with  her  chin  not  shaved,  and  a 
crutch  across  the  coverlet.  So  what  could  I  do  but  buy 
a  scrubbing-brush.  Scrubbing-brushes  were  nearest  on 
the  counter." 

"  And  you  mean  to  say  that's  all  you  did  ?  Bought 
a  scrubbing-brush  ?  " 

"  After  a  bit  I  bought  another  one.  Likewise  a 
nail-brush." 

Sivert  drew  forth  the  mentioned  articles  and  set 
them  beside  the  first.  Egholm  fingered  the  things 
absently,  shook  his  head,  and  said  : 

"  Good  heavens  !     Was  there  ever  such  a  fool  !  " 

"  It  made  a  first-rate  impression,"  said  Sivert  con- 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     41 

fidently.  "  Just  as  I  was  buying  the  nail-brush  at  last — 
I  bought  the  things  separately,  you  know,  and  paid  for 
them  separately,  to  spin  it  out,  though  the  place  stank 
like  a  pair  of  long  boots — the  mother  beast  inside  stuck 
out  her  crutch  and  pushed  the  door  open  wide,  to  get  a 
better  look  at  me  in  my  elegant  suit,  with  collar  and  tie 
and  a  cigar  alight." 

"  What  about  your  intended  ?  Did  she  say  anything 
at  all  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  but  you  ought  to  have  seen  me 
striding  proudly  out  of  the  place,  all  the  same — '  Farvel, 
Froken  !  '  hat  up  and  down  stiffly  like  a  pump-handle, 
the  way  they  do  in  Silkeborg.  I've  been  in  Silkeborg 
myself  more  than  once,  and  got  on  first-rate  with  the 
girls." 

Egholm  gave  way  to  a  short  laugh  here  and  there, 
when  his  imagination  followed  the  scene  in  detail — 
Sivert  in  the  httle,  evil-smelling  shop — but  after  a  while 
he  said  harshly  : 

"  The  business  is  not  finished  with  yet,  I  must 
think  over  what's  the  next  thing  to  do.  Meanwhile, 
you  can  set  to  work  on  the  well." 

"  I  can't  go  digging  wells  in  my  best  suit,"  pleaded 
Sivert. 

"  You  may  go  digging  stark  naked  for  ah  I  care.  But 
dig  you  shall,  and  that  within  the  next  half-hour.  You 
understand  ?  " 

Sivert  went  up  reluctantly  to  exchange  his  green 
magnificence  for  a  pair  of  working  trousers  and  a  blue 
blouse.  Emanuel  went  with  him.  Emanuel  thought 
there  was  no  one  in  the  world  so  amusing  as  brother 
Sivert.  No  one  could  make  pea-shooters  as  he  did  ; 
certainly  no  one  could  ever  tell  such  dreadfully  exciting 
stories  without  end. 


42  THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Sivert  stripped  to  the  skin  ;  he  was  in  excellent 
spirits  now. 

"  There,"  he  said,  "  That's  what  a  real  live  man 
looks  like.  I'll  give  you  five  minutes  to  view.  Ever 
see  such  muscles  ?     No,  of  course  not." 

Suddenly  he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  confidential 
whisper. 

"  Emanuel,  my  one  and  only  chosen  brother  !  Hear 
now  how  the  blessing  of  God  descended  upon  my  head. 
I  didn't  go  straight  to  Bisserup's,  but  stayed  out  in  the 
churchyard  quite  a  while,  deep  in  thought.  By  reason 
of  a  miracle  that  happened.  Namely,  this  :  Just  as  I 
got  to  Bisserup's  door,  who  should  I  meet  ?  Minna 
Lund,  my  beloved  !  And  do  you  think  I'd  ever  give 
her  up  ?  No  !  (Thanks,  thanks,  Emanuel,  for  shaking 
that  innocent  head.  I'll  tell  you,  after,  all  about  how  I 
plundered  the  corpse  of  the  Burgomaster  in  Slagelse). 
No,  and  for  ever  no  !  I  walked  past  gay  and  casual  as 
could  be,  and  took  off  my  hat  with  respectful  earnest- 
ness.    Like  this  !  " 

"  And  did  she  nod  to  you  ?  " 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  sonny,  I  don't  know.     You  see, 

I  couldn't  help  looking  the  other  way.     But  that  yellow 

dog  of  hers  was  with  her,  a  little  behind.     I  know  the 

creature  personally,  from  visiting  at  her  father's  house." 

"  And  did  it  wag  its  tail  ?  " 

"  Like  anything  !  And  I  feel  now,"  added  Sivert 
triumphantly,  "  with  ever-increasing  conviction,  that  I 
shall  one  day  lead  my  Minna  home  as  my  true  and  faithful 
wife  !  Now  come  along  with  me,  and  I'll  show  you  the 
short  cut  through  to  hell !  " 


IV 

A  TEMPEST  of  spring-cleaning,  shifting  of  furni- 
ture, and  general  rearrangement  raged  about  the 
Toldbod  for  some  weeks,  Fru  van  Haag  went 
about  in  an  outlandish  costume,  with  a  coloured  hand- 
kerchief about  her  head,  and  a  long  yellow  smock  sugges- 
tive of  the  land.  This  outer  garment  she  kept  scrupu- 
lously buttoned,  doubtless  with  good  reason  in  the  lack 
of  adequate  coverings  underneath.  Only  her  shoes 
were  beyond  reproach  ;  little  shiny  buckle  shoes,  set 
with  blue  stones.  Her  eyes  shone  with  a  fever  of  com- 
mand. Hedvig  and  a  charwoman  enlisted  for  the  occa- 
sion were  flung  from  cellar  to  attic,  their  mistress  exposing 
them  and  herself  to  peril  of  their  Uves  in  the  mounting  of 
ladders  and  balancing  on  chair-backs  merely  to  see  if  a 
picture  could  be  got  to  hang  here  or  there.  Mostly,  it 
could  not.  Fru  van  Haag  would  decide  the  question 
with  a  careless  pronouncement  of  sentence  ;  the  light 
was  impossible,  or  the  thing  was  "  simply  killed  "  by  the 
chiffonier.  Malle  Duse,  the  hireling,  opined  that  such 
objections  were  rank  superstitions  ;  all  very  grand,  no 
doubt,  but  none  the  less  reprehensible.  How  could  the 
chiffonier  hurt  a  picture  hanging  half  a  yard  away  ? 
Hedvig  smiled  and  shook  her  head  ;  she  had  leapt  light- 
footed  into  the  realm  of  taste,  and  revelled  in  it  all. 
Already  her  mistress  had  entrusted  her,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  with  full  powers  in  the  selection  of  flowers  for 
the  rooms,  though  here,  above  all,  there  was  the  risk  of 

4^ 


44  THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

committing  enormities  against  the  wall-paper  or  curtains. 
Hr.  van  Haag  was  billeted  en  pension  with  Fru  Vang. 
His  chatelaine,  in  his  absence,  took  her  meals  in  the 
kitchen.  Apparently  she  enjoyed  it,  and  even  took  a 
particular  pleasure  in  mimicking  little  eccentricities  of 
Malle  Duse,  such  as  picking  her  teeth  with  a  splinter  of 
firewood,  or  drinking  coffee  from  the  saucer.  This  last 
manoeuvre  especially  took  her  fancy,  as  a  practical 
means  of  getting  hot  coffee  down  quickly.  Then  she 
could  return  to  the  work  in  hand  with  redoubled  zest. 
For  the  first  few  days  Malle  Duse  herself  looked  with 
marked  disfavour  upon  this  superfluous  haste  ;  after 
that,  however,  she  seemed  to  recover  her  own  lost  youth 
and  spirits.  She  would  suddenly  burst  into  song — song 
of  an  order  terrific,  yet  with  a  power  of  encouragement 
in  it  both  for  herself  and  the  others.  Raucous  as  a 
savage  war-cry  it  echoed  through  the  place  from  morning 
early  to  evening  late,  a  single  strophe  incessantly  re- 
peated, until  every  lumbering  piece  of  furniture  was 
polished  and  in  place,  carpets  spread,  curtains  and 
pictures  hung,  apartments  and  inventory  swept  and 
garnished,  washed  and  ironed  and  starched,  and  the 
heavy  atmosphere  of  the  house  changed  to  a  freshness 
as  of  the  very  breeze  from  the  Belt.  Not  until  then  did  her 
song  die  away  in  a  wail,  and  having  ended,  she  thanked 
the  lady  of  the  house  profusely,  as  if  she  had  been  a  guest 
on  holiday.  By  that  time  Fruen  and  Hedvig  also  were 
well  pleased  as  the  Lord  with  His  creation  on  the  seventh 
day.  But,  weary  as  slaves.  Fruen  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  kitchen  table,  Hedvig  on  a  chair  at  her  feet.  A 
final  cup  of  coffee  ;  they  drank  with  each  other,  and 
laughed  weakly.  Then  suddenly  Fruen  bent  forward, 
placed  one  emphatic  finger  on  Hedvig's  breast,  and  said  : 
"  Who  was  he  ?  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     45 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  He."  Fruen  waved  one  arm  in  the  air,  with  a 
marvellous  imitation  of  Johan  Fors  raising  his  hat. 

Hedvig  blushed. furiously,  and  said  : 

"  I  really  don't  know  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  hear  him  playing  ?  The  Uttle  man 
with  the  big  hat  ?  " 

"  He's  not  httle  !  "  Hedvig  burst  out  hotly. 

Fruen  laughed. 

"  Aha,  my  dear  !  Well,  I'll  ask  no  more,  though  I 
should  love  to  know  a  little  more  about  him.  I  never 
heard  such  music.  Tell  me  one  thing,  though — does  he 
live  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hedvig,  with  bowed  head. 

"  Extraordinary  place,"  said  Fruen,  and  sat  silent 
for  a  while.  Her  eyes  grew  dark  ;  she  was  thinking, 
no  doubt,  of  her  first  arrival ;  a  moment  later  she  had 
evidently  moved  on  ahead,  for  she  broke  out  suddenly  : 

"  Oh,  Hedvig,  I  forgot.    What  did  your  father  say  ?  " 

"  He  sent  his  kind  regards,"  said  Hedvig  mechani- 
cally. She  had  long  been  prepared  for  the  question, 
and  had  her  answer  ready. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Sent  his  kind  regards  !  What  did  he 
say  ?     Wasn't  he  astonished  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh  !     Not  much,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  he — he's  got  such  a  lot  of  things  to  think 
about." 

"  But  surely  he  remembered  me  ?  " 

Hedvig  had  thought  out  the  whole  thing  carefully 
beforehand,  and  found  no  way  but  to  lie  m  self-defence. 
But  it  hurt  her  now  to  see  it  spread.  She  began  hesitat- 
ingly something  about  her  father's  being  so  queer,  not 
hke  other  people.  .  .  . 


46  THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Of  course  he's  not,"   said  Fruen,  with  a  smile. 
"  But  what  is  he  Uke  ?  " 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  say.  Hedvig's  mind  was  full 
at  the  moment  of  his  latest  shameful  manoeuvres  with 
Sivert  and  the  bmshmaker's  daughter.  But  that  was 
too  much  for  anyone  else  to  understand.  She  chose 
rather  to  tell  of  her  father's  inventions.  Her  cheeks 
flu^hed  with  shame  as  she  told  how  he  had  made  a 
machine  thing,  some  years  back — a  turbine  he  called  it — 
that  was  fixed  in  a  rotten  old  boat  patched  up  with  rags 
and  bits  of  gutter  pipe  and  things,  and  people  came 
down  to  the  beach  in  hundreds  to  see  the  wonderful 
thing  he'd  talked  so  much  about.  But  all  they  saw 
was  a  man  with  his  face  all  smeared  with  soot  and  dirt, 
a  barefooted  man  sitting  in  the  boat,  poking  and  stoking, 
a  laughing-stock  for  the  whole  town. 

Hedvig  looked  up,  but  the  indignation  that  filled  her 
at  her  own  recital  found  no  reflection  in  her  mistress's 
face.     Fruen  was  to  all  appearance  keenly  interested. 

Then  Hedvig  went  on  to  tell  of  the  house-building. 
Her  father,  she  explained  in  a  choking  voice,  had  bought 
up  material  from  the  old  workhouse  when  it  was  pulled 
down.  Over  thirty  loads  of  beams  and  planks  and  doors, 
bricks  and  tiles  and  all  sorts  of  refuse.  Rotten  and 
filthy  every  bit  of  it.  Then  he  and  Sivert  and  Ditlev  Pl0k 
had  stuck  the  crumbling  baulks  up  endwise  in  holes  dug 
in  the  ground,  and  nailed  planks  across  for  walls.  Of 
all  the  mad,  ungainly  ways  of  building  a  house.  A 
chicken-house,  or  a  pigsty,  perhaps,  but  for  human 
beings.  ...  1  And  all  the  town  laughed,  of  course, 
till  their  sides  ached.  It  was  no  pleasant  thing  in  those 
days  to  be  known  in  Knarreby  as  Egholm's  girl.  Sivert, 
trying  to  be  funny,  had  got  together  a  whole  heap  of 
inner  boards  with  wall-paper  still  on,  and  stuck  them 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    47 

up  right  facing  the  road.  "  And  of  course  people  said 
clever  things  about  our  wonderful  house  that  was  papered 
on  the  outside." 

Hedvig  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"And  do  you  still  hve  there  in  the  queer  little  house  ?  " 
asked  her  mistress  gently. 

"  Father  did  it  all  over  with  some  sort  of  mortar 
stuS  when  it  was  done,  and  whitewashed  it  after.  But 
what's  the  good  of  hiding  it  up  hke  that,  when  every 
soul  in  the  town  knows  it's  rotten  all  through  inside  ?  " 

"  But,  my  dear  child,  I  can't  see  what  you're  so  angry 
about  ?  If  your  father  hasn't  the  money — and  I  don't 
suppose  he  has — how  could  he  buy  all  kinds  of  expensive 
things  to  build  with  ?  " 

"  If  he  couldn't  afford  to  get  the  proper  things,  what 
did  he  want  to  buy  for  at  all  ?  We  might  have  stayed 
where  we  were  and  paid  rent,  but  father,  he  wanted  to 
say  he  owned  the  place — that's  what  it  was,  I  know, 
that  made  him  buy  up  the  bit  of  ground  that  was  going 
cheap.  And  the  workhouse  people  gave  him  credit  for 
three  months." 

Now  here  was  Hedvig  saying  all  sorts  of  damaging 
things  against  her  father,  and  lo,  the  effect  on  Fru  van 
Haag  was  just  the  reverse  of  what  it  should  have  been. 
Her  imagination  built  up  a  picture  of  a  man,  restless, 
ambitious,  fighting  bravely  against  the  enormously 
superior  force  of  poverty.  It  was  a  figure  approaching 
very  nearly  to  an  ideal.  How  divinely  different,  at  any 
rate,  from  her  own  husband.  And  she  burned  with  a 
sense  of  injustice  done  to  herself,  in  being  thus  saddled 
with  a  creature  so  useless  as  he. 

For,  if  women  were  ever  to  be  anything  but  a  futility, 
even  a  hindrance  in  the  world,  surely  it  was  their  mission 
to  influence,  to  make  something  out  of,  their  husbands 


48     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

and  children.  And  what  a  husband  for  the  purpose 
was  this  of  hers  !  Hr.  van  Haag  selected  his  striped 
trousers  with  scrupulous  care,  he  cleared  his  throat  and 
smoothed  his  moustaches  and  glanced  with  self-satis- 
faction into  every  mirror  on  his  way.  Beyond  that,  he 
did  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  in  hfe — could  not,  would 
not  do  more. 

They  had  travelled  in  the  principal  countries  of 
Europe — on  her  money.  Hr.  van  Haag  had  learned 
in  the  course  of  those  voyagings  that  excellent  tailors 
were  to  be  found  in  Paris  and  London,  Vienna  and 
Rome.  He  knew  the  shop  windows  of  a  host  of  towns, 
and  how  they  reflected  his  passing  image.  That  was  as 
far  as  his  mind  had  been  broadened  by  travel. 

No,  she  thought  to  herself,  if  she  had  only  prevented 
her  father  from  dismissing  Kasper  Egholm  in  the  old 
days  .  .  . 

A  woman  remembers  every  trifling  detail  of  a  love 
affair  to  her  last  breath.  But  there  was  nothing  trifling 
here.  Such  white-hot  love  as  that  she  had  never,  never 
met  with  since.     She  felt  the  truth  of  it  now,  and  sighed. 

That  errant  mind  of  his  might  have  been  hers  to 
curb  and  guide.  .  .  .  Fru  van  Haag  set  her  muscles  at 
the  strain,  with  a  feehng  as  if  she  were  actually  holding 
in  a  refractory  horse. 

Hedvig  was  annoyed  to  find  her  words  apparently  of 
so  slight  effect.      But  she  had  other  cards  to  play. 

"  And  then  father  goes  about  thinking  he's  a  holy 
man  of  God,  and  everything  he  does  is  to  the  glory  of 
the  Lord,  as  if  every  bit  of  bread  and  dripping  you  put 
in  his  hand  were  given  him  from  Heaven.  He  prays 
like  this  :  '  O  God,  do  lend  me  fifty  Kroner  !  ' — Fve 
heard  him  myself — he  made  me  join  in  too,  once,  when 
I  hved  at  home." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    49 

"  But  —  heavens  .  .  .  then  he  really  believes  in 
God  ?  " 

"  Believes  .  .  .  well,  yes,"  said  Hedvig  hesitatingly. 

"Strange.  .  .  ." 

"  But  there's  plenty  of  people  believe,  only  they 
don't  go  dragging  the  Lord  about  after  you  hke  a  boy 
with  a  dead  cat  on  a  string." 

"  Are  there,  though  ?     Who,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Well,  there's  the  priest." 

"  No,  my  dear  Hedvig,  don't  come  telling  me  that. 
The  priest  himself  believe  in  God  ?  I  know  this  is  quite 
a  remarkable  little  town  in  many  ways,  but  ..." 

This  was  beyond  Hedvig  altogether.  What  ? — the 
priest  who  had  confirmed  her — didn't  he  believe  in  God  ? 
She  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  idea. 

But  her  mistress  did  not  laugh.  She  sat  there, 
deeply  earnest,  with  big,  wondering  eyes,  leaning  forward 
a  little,  with  her  hands  clasped  under  one  knee.  After 
a  little  while  she  said  : 

"  He'd  be  the  first  one  that  did,  if  so.  I  mean,  of 
course,  believe  quite  simply.  That's  the  only  thing  that 
counts,  really.  I  know  all  about  their  theological  quibbles 
and  humbug.  But  you  say  your  father  simply  asks  God 
to  lend  him  fifty  Kroner.  That's  the  genuine  thing. 
The  man  who  says  he  believes,  but  couldn't  pray  for  fifty 
Kroner — ^he  doesn't  count.  He's  just  a  fraud,  a  whited 
sepulchre." 

But  Hedvig  could  not  lose  this  point  too  ;  all  her 
convictions  were  at  stake.  Better  throw  aside  all  reserve 
and  out  with  the  worst  at  once. 

"  You  couldn't  find  a  bigger  fraud  than  father," 

she  said.     "  You  don't  know  him,  Fru  van  Haag.     But 

I  do.     I've  seen  him  lie  flat  on  the  floor,  making  up  to 

God,  and  then  get  up  and  be  the  cruellest,  brutalest  bully 

4 


50    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

five  minutes  after.  I  won't  say  a  word  of  what  he's  done 
to  me  and  my  brother  Sivert,  but  he's  struck  mother 
more  than  once,  yes — knocked  her  down  !  " 

Hedvig  sprang  up  from  her  chair  and  stood  facing  her 
mistress  with  flashing  eyes, 

"  Yes,  he's  done  that,"  she  said. 

What  would  this  dehcate,  upright  flower  of  ladyhood 
say  to  that  ?  Surely  a  woman  must  always  be  incensed 
at  the  story  of  another  woman  wronged  ? 

Fru  van-Haag  closed  her  eyes,  and  said  : 

"  I  could  quite  imagine  your  father  would  not  easily 
find  the  right  woman  to  manage  his  temperament. 
Your  mother,  now,  isn't  she  a  little  woman,  rather  a 
weakly  sort  ?  Ah,  I  thought  as  much.  No,  no,  my  dear, 
you  can't  judge  of  these  things  so  simply  and  easily  just 
from  one  side  ;  they're  far  too  comphcated.  Tempera- 
ment's just  fire.  It  needs  to  be  fed,  and  guarded,  and 
kept  within  its  proper  bounds.  But  fire's  a  dangerous 
thing.  Your  mother,  I  fancy,  is  just  a  child  who  has 
burned  her  fingers.  You  and  I  must  not  judge  your 
father,  dear,  but  understand  him." 

"  I  shall  never  understand  he's  anything  but  a 
tyrant  !  " 

"  Ah,  you'll  soon  get  tired  of  that,  I'm  sure." 

"  No  !     Why  ?  " 

Fruen  slipped  down  from  the  table,  busy  with  her 
own  thoughts. 

"  Why  ?  Oh,  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  it's 
such  an  ordinary  point  of  view." 

"  Ordinary  ? 

"  Yes,  ordinary.     Abominably  ordinary." 

Hedvig  sat  down  slap  on  her  kitchen  chair,  almost 
in  tears. 

"  Is  it  such  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  Hke  other  people  ? " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    51 

"  Yes !  "  said  Fru  van  Haag.  "  Ordinary  life's  just 
nothing-and-water.  Ah,  I  know  it  !  Keep  away 
from  everything  ordinary,  tread  on  it,  spit  on  it,  I 
say  !  One  day  you'll  see  your  father  in  a  different 
light." 


EGHOLM  is  furious.     His  plans  have  been  upset 
in  the  meanest  fashion.     Si  vert  has  run  away. 
It  takes  two  to  make  a  couple.     And  Egholm 
argues  confusedly  that  if  he  had  only  had  Sivert,  he 
could  have  got  hold  of  Petrea  all  right,  and  then  there 
would  have  been  a  couple  ! 

But  Sivert  is  gone,  having  left  a  note  as  follows  : 
"  Fondest  love,  write  soon.  Your  loving  son,  Sivert, 
Glazier.     Seeing  I  love  another," 

"  Ungrateful  scoundrel,"  says  Egholm,  trampling 
on  the  letter  of  farewell. 

"  Doesn't  it  say  where  he's  gone  to  ?  "  asks  his 
mother  sadly. 

"  No,  and  I  don't  care.  When  he  can  treat  his 
parents  in  that  heartless  way." 

"  But  perhaps  they  wouldn't  have  been  happy  after 
all." 

"  They  ?     No,  but  /  should  !  " 

"  Never  mind,  Egholm,  my  dear,  it  may  be  all  right 
after  all.  I  don't  believe  really  she's  got  anything  to 
speak  of.  They  owe  money  right  and  left,  so  I've 
heard." 

"  And  what  then  ?  Every  Ore  they  owe  means  so 
much  more  capital  in  hand,"  argued  Egholm  fanatically, 
and  he  went  off  in  a  fury  for  his  morning  walk. 

He  considered  the  possibility  of  tracking  down 
Sivert,  catching  him,  bringing  him  back  home  ahve  or 


i' 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     53 

,  .  .  No,  he  would  be  no  use,  of  course,  unless  he  were 
alive.  But  since  neither  the  neighbours  nor  anyone 
else  apparently  had  seen  anything  of  Sivert's  move- 
ments, he  was  forced  at  last  to  give  up  the  chase  and 
return  home.  It  was  dinner-time  when  he  got  back. 
His  wife  stood  by  the  stove  ;  would  it  please  him  to 
have  dinner  now  ? 

"  Whenever  you  hke,"  he  answered  graciously,  some- 
what softened  by  the  smeU  of  food. 

Anna  hurried  as  well  as  she  could.  She  had  got  in 
a  good  piece  of  steak  for  the  occasion.  That  is,  Egholm 
was  to  have  steak ;  she  herself  had  httle  appetite  just 
now.  How  could  she  think  of  eating,  with  her  darling 
Sivert  wandering  Heaven  knows  where  ? 

But  the  wonder-working  properties  of  that  piece  of 
steak  surpassed  all  she  had  ever  imagined.  Just  as  she 
was  tipping  it  out  on  to  a  dish,  sending  a  most  appetising 
odour  abroad — lo  !  a  hand  and  the  sleeve  of  a  green 
jacket  thrust  down  from  the  trap-door  in  the  loft  above, 
beckoning  to  her.  No  face  was  to  be  seen — nothing 
beyond  that  beckoning  arm,  but  it  was  quite  enough. 
Not  only  does  she  recognise  the  sleeve,  but  she  has 
further  reasons  for  supposing  that  Sivert  himself  is 
attached  thereto,  and  directing  its  motions  towards  the 
dish  of  meat.  Her  motherly  cares  evaporate  at  once  ; 
she  laughs  indeed,  all  over  her  face,  as  she  bears  in  the 
dish  to  her  husband.     Luckily,  he  noticed  nothing. 

A  moment  later  she  is  creaking  softly  up  the  stairs 
with  two  nice  pieces  on  a  plate.  She  shakes  her  head 
and  smiles,  playfully  threatening,  at  Sivert,  who  smiles 
back  delightedly,  plays  an  imaginary  concertina,  and  is 
generally  amusing.  Then,  taking  her  hand,  he  leads 
her  across  the  loft  through  the  piled-up  rubbish  lying 
about  everywhere. 


54    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Right  at  the  farther  end  he  had  fixed  up  a  tent,  with 
a  piece  of  old  sailcloth.  It  was  invisible  a  few  steps 
away,  there  being  no  window  at  that  end.  Inside  the 
tent  he  had  shifted  one  of  the  tiles  in  the  roof,  letting  in 
a  thin  streak  of  light.  His  mother  saw  he  had  been 
passing  the  time  with  a  heap  of  dusty  back  numbers 
of  the  illustrated  papers,  and  had  made  some  sort  of  a 
bed  for  himself  out  of  sacks  and  old  clothes.  They 
whispered  together. 

"  Si  vert  dear,  you're  not  going  to  stay  away  for 
long  ?  " 

"  Lord,  don't  talk  about  coming  back  already ! 
Why,  I've  only  just  started.  I'm  happy  enough  wher- 
ever I  may  be  in  the  wide  world  ;  none  of  your  home- 
sickness and  that  sort  about  me." 

"  Well,  well,  as  long  as  you're  not  farther  away,  dear, 
it's  not  so  bad.     Is  your  dinner  all  right  ?  " 

"  A  trifle  more  pepper  wouldn't  hurt  it." 

"  Oh,  you  always  want  such  a  lot,  I  know.  Wait  a 
minute.     I'll  .  .  ." 

"  Thanks.  But  hurry  up,  you  know,  or  I'll  have 
eaten  it  all  before  you  get  back." 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear.  I'll  stick  the  pepper-box  up  the  trap- 
door and  you  can  take  it  yourself." 

"  Yes,  that'll  do.  Only  too  pleased  to  help  you  laying 
the  table,"  says  Si  vert,  all  overflowing  with  kindhness. 

That  same  day  Emanuel  was  initiated  into  the  secret 
of  Sivert's  concealment.  He  found  it  a  splendidly 
romantic  idea,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  up  in  his 
brother's  cave.  They  arranged  a  code  of  signals  ;  when 
the  door  of  the  stove  was  shut  with  a  bang,  Sivert  would 
creep  down  and  bury  himself  deep  under  his  pile  of  rags 
—there  was  danger  at  hand.  But  when  Emanuel 
started  playing  "  Sailors  bold  "  on  his  comb-and-paper. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     55 

it  meant  that  the  dreaded  one  was  putting  on  his  things 
to  go  out,  and  Si  vert  might  have  hopes.  Then,  when 
the  tune  changed  to  "  Once  more  the  woods  are  green," 
the  voluntary  prisoner  would  come  clambering  down 
the  ladder,  blinking  at  the  light,  with  cobwebs  in  his 
hair,  but  in  the  best  of  spirits,  as  also  in  his  best  of 
clothes.  He  declared  that  he  was  going  to  continue 
his  travels  thus  for  a  hundred  years  or  so. 

"  But  I'm  sure  it's  not  good  for  you  to  be  up  there 
doing  nothing,"  said  his  mother  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  I've  got  a  splendid  constitution  ;  I  can  stand 
it  all  right." 

"  If  only  you  could  use  a  needle  and  thread, 
then  .  .  ." 

"  Give  me  a  couple  of  needles.  That's  just  what  I 
was  wanting.     Never  mind  about  the  thread." 

"  Or  suppose  you  practised  writing  a  bit,  with  pen 
and  ink  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  let  me  have  some  ink.  You  can  keep  the 
pen." 

"  Oh,  you  silly  !  Going  to  sew  without  thread  and 
write  without  a  pen  ?  What  are  you  up  to  now,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me.  It's  a  matter  connected  with  my 
heart's  love,"  says  Si  vert  mysteriously. 

"  Ah,  then  I  won't,"  said  his  mother,  touched  at  the 
thought.  "  After  all,  it's  love  that  makes  the  world  go 
round.  Here's  the  needles,  dear.  Now,  I'll  see  and 
get  hold  of  some  ink  for  you." 

"  What's  it  going  to  be  for  ?  "  asked  Emanuel,  when 
they  got  back  to  the  den  once  more. 

"  Patience,  my  son,  and  you'll  grow  wise.  In  two 
days'  time  there's  an  inscription  to  be  unveiled,  and  you 
shall  be  in  the  front  row  if  you're  good." 


56    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Never  had  Sivert  been  so  wonderful  a  brother  as  now. 
Emanuel  only  hoped  the  present  exciting  state  of  things 
might  last. 

Two  days  later,  Sivert  began  unbuttoning  his  coat 
and  vest  solemnly,  without  a  word.  Emanuel  stares  at 
him  in  wonder  :  What  on  earth  is  going  to  happen  now  ? 
Then  he  pulls  his  shirt  aside,  and  lo  !  there  on  his  chest 
is  a  long  and  remarkable  piece  of  tattooing. 

Emanuel  was  beside  himself  with  delight. 

**  Read  it  !  "  commanded  Sivert. 

"  But — ^it's  Hebrew  or  something.  .  .  .  What's  it 
supposed  to  mean  ?  " 

"  Mean  ?  Why,  what  it  says  !  Minna  Lund — can't 
you  see  ?  " 

"  Minna  Lund  ?  No,  that  I  can't.  It's — it's  wrong, 
somehow." 

"  D'you  mean  to  say  I  can't  spell  ?  " 

"  Why — why,  of  course  .  .  .  it's  all  backwards  !  " 

With  trembling  hand  Sivert  took  out  a  small  looking- 
glass  and  examined  the  inscription.  His  sunken  chest 
made  it  easier  for  him  to  read  in  the  glass. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  It's  not  backwards 
at  all." 

"  No,  not  in  the  glass,  but  when  you  look  at  it  your- 
self.    You've  written  it  looking-glass  way  !  " 

"  Wonderful !  " 

"  But  what's  the  good  of  it  that  way  ?  " 

Sivert  pondered  a  moment,  then  he  said  : 

"  That  way  ?  Why,  what's  the  use  of  it  any  other 
way,  when  it's  all  hidden  under  my  shirt  ?  No, 
you're  supposed  to  see  it  from  inside  !  I  can  look  through 
my  own  delicate  skin  and  read  her  lovely  name  the  right 
way  round.  Minna,  it  says,  and  Lund — Minna  Lund. 
You  don't  expect  me  to  go  showing  everybody  my  own 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    57 

beloved's  name,  do  you  ?  Of  course  not  !  Say  no, 
Emanuel,  dear  Emanuel,  do  !  " 

Ah,  but  Sivert  was  a  real  hero — never  a  question  but 
was  child's  play  to  him.  Besides  being  chock-full  of 
mysteries  and  stories.  He  lay  there  on  his  rag  bed  and 
told  stories  in  a  whisper,  the  weirdest  stories,  crammed 
with  ghosts  and  corpses  and  things.  Emanuel  listened 
breathlessly. 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  he  asked  greedily,  when  Sivert 
stopped  to  moisten  his  lips. 

When  it  grew  dark,  Emanuel's  face  shone  like  a  httle 
white  moon.  All  the  uncanny  things  crept  nearer. 
And  Sivert  felt  his  power  over  the  child's  sensitive  mind. 
Just  when  it  was  time  for  Emanuel  to  go,  however  un- 
willingly, he  would  say  : 

"  If  you  step  on  anything  soft,  you'U  know  it's  the 
corpse  of  a  woman  I've  got  lying  up  here.  Mind  her 
long  hair  doesn't  trip  you  up  !  " 

Emanuel  knew  well  enough  that  the  corpse  in  ques- 
tion was  a  piece  of  poetic  exaggeration  ;  nevertheless, 
his  heart  was  thumping  as  he  turned  away,  and  he  lifted 
his  feet  with  unusual  care  as  he  groped  his  way  between 
the  piles  of  rubbish  to  the  trap-door. 

Those  were  days  of  wonder,  golden  days,  for  the 
two  brothers. 

Not  so,  however,  for  their  mother.  Wonder  enough, 
perhaps,  but  nothing  golden. 

It  was  none  so  easy,  in  the  long  run,  with  this  double 
housekeeping,  half  of  which  had  to  be  kept  strictly 
private  and  confidential.  Sivert  grew  impatient  and 
irritable  with  his  long  confinement.  He  complained 
about  the  food,  and  in  particular  insisted  on  meals  being 
served  punctually  to  the  minute,  which  made  things 
extremely  awkward.      And  he  had  a  means  of  enforcing 


58    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

his  demands  :  he  could  threaten  to  he  found  out  himself. 
Just  as  she  was  going  through  with  a  dish  for  Egholm  in 
the  parlour,  Sivert  would  thrust  an  arm  through  the 
trap-door  and  beckon.  She  answered  by  pointing  to  the 
door  :  it  was  only  right  and  reason  that  the  master  of 
the  house  should  be  first  served.  But  Sivert  took  an 
empty  plate  and  rattled  it  on  the  floor  so  audibly  it  was 
a  marvel  his  father  did  not  hear.  And  the  rattling  would 
continue  until  the  first  course  was  diverted  into  the 
channel  indicated. 

Egholm's  anger  had  not  abated.  He  called  on 
his  brain  to  find  a  solution  of  the  problem.  One 
day  he  went  himself  to  Bisserup's  and  bought  a 
moustache  brush,  in  order  to  spy  out  the  land,  and 
though  he  found  there  nothing  beyond  dirt  and  poverty, 
the  visit  left  him  more  intent  on  his  plan  than  ever. 
The  moment  he  got  back,  he  sent  for  Emanuel. 

"  Where  do  you  get  to  all  day,  boy  ?  Do  you  ever 
look  at  your  lessons  ?  Seems  to  me  you're  always 
running  upstairs  to  the  loft  nowadays." 

Emanuel  screwed  his  eyes  up  triangle-wise,  and 
explained  with  a  wavering  smile  that  he  had  been  up 
there  once  or  twice  catching  flies  for  his  jackdaws.  He 
knew  his  lessons  all  right,  yes.  He  was  top  of  the  class, 
in  fact. 

"  Good  !  Mind  you  stay  there,  and  don't  let  me  see 
you  turn  out  a  ne'er-do-well  like  your  brother  Sivert. 
I've  great  hopes  of  you,  when  you  grow  up  a  bit.  You've 
all  my  wisdom  and  experience  to  inherit  and  put  to  use, 
so  you've  something  to  look  forward  to." 

Emanuel  had  but  the  vaguest  idea  as  to  what  pre- 
cisely was  implied  by  "  wisdom  and  experience,"  but 
he  was  thankful  to  find  his  father  so  easy-tempered  at 
the  moment. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     59 

"  And  I'll  declare  unto  you  the  innermost  secrets  of 
religion,  so  you  can  make  yourself  rich  and  happy  in  no 
time.  The  art  of  prayer,  whereby  a  man  can  pin  the 
Lord  down  to  His  word  so  there's  no  escape — I'll  teach 
you  that.  How  to  get  round  and  outflank  Him  un- 
awares, aim  one  of  His  own  texts  at  Him  point-blank, 
and  '  Hands  up  !  '" 

This  last  idea,  with  its  savour  of  bushranging  and 
such-like  exploits,  appealed  at  once  to  the  boy's  imagina- 
tion. He  was  accustomed  to  hearing  his  father  deal  with 
the  Scriptures  as  an  inflexible  code  of  law,  but  this  was 
more  exciting  still. 

"  Talking  about  fighting  the  Devil — it's  a  thousand 
times  more  difficult  to  keep  your  end  up  when  you're 
fighting  God  Himself.  You've  got  to  get  a  grip  of 
Himself.     Wrestle  Him  out  of  breath,  till  He  gives  in." 

In  Bible  readings  none  excelled  Emanuel.  He  laid 
his  head  on  one  side,  and  his  blue  eyes  gUttered  as  he 
said  : 

"  Jacob  did  that — wresthng  with  the  Lord.  But 
then  the  Lord  did  something  to  one  of  his  legs,  and  he 
was  lame." 

"  Exactly  !  That's  just  what  He's  done  to  me,  only, 
unfortunately,  it  was  before  I'd  got  Him  down.  My 
son,  it  is  for  you  to  avenge  your  father's  defeat — in  the 
fullness  of  time.  You're  a  bit  young  yet,  of  course. 
Still,  you  might  be  some  use  in  an  ordinary  tussle  with 
mortal  things — yes,  you  could  help  me  there.  I  dare  say 
you  know  what  I'm  thinking  of  now  ?  " 

Emanuel  had  no  idea.  There  was  the  boat,  he  knew, 
that  wanted  scraping,  but  it  was  not  a  task  he  cared 
about  at  all.     He  refrained  from  guessing  that. 

"  Give  it  up,  eh  ?  "  said  his  father.  "  Well,  it's 
this  business  with  Petrea.     I've  been  wondering  if  you 


60    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

couldn't  propose  to  her  yourself — on  Sivert's  behalf,  of 
course.  Then  we  should  have  her  fixed  up  all  right 
when  the  rascal  himself  takes  it  into  his  head  to  come 
back  home.     He's  never  stayed  away  very  long  before." 

"  It's  so  silly,"  protested  Emanuel,  blushing. 

"  Silly  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  And  I'm  not  asking  you 
to  do  it  for  nothing.  Look  here  " — Egholm  took  out 
his  purse — "  this,  my  son,  is  money.  Twenty-five  0re. 
We  stick  it  up  on  the  edge  of  this  bracket,  so.  Right 
at  the  edge.  And  if  you  manage  the  business,  then  we 
can  give  it  just  the  tiniest  Hick,  and  down  it  comes  into 
your  cap  !  " 

In  the  shadowy  grey  lobes  of  Emanuel's  brain, 
strange  forces  were  at  work.  The  part  he  was  chosen 
to  play  disgusted  him.  But  the  praise,  as  represented 
by  a  25-0re  piece,  attracted  him  exceedingly.  It  was 
rarely  his  father  praised  him.  And  he  felt  hot  all  over 
at  the  thought  that  his  father  really  considered  him 
of  use. 

"  All  you  need  do  is  just  to  say  so  and  so,  you've  got 
a  brother  anxious  to  get  married — no,  better  say  en- 
gaged— and  he's  chosen  her,  but  he's  afraid  to  pro- 
pose himself,  because  he's  half-witted.  No,  that  won't 
do,  though.  Better  praise  him  up  a  bit.  You're  a 
smart  little  beggar  ;  you  know  how  to  manage  it.  Look 
at  the  money  there,  balancing  just  on  the  edge  ..." 

The  pale,  over-wise-looking  child  glanced  up  and 
said,  with  a  strange  firmness  in  his  delicate  voice  : 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I'd  better  go,  if  nobody  else  will." 

"  That's  the  style,  my  son,"  said  his  father,  pressing 
the  cap  down  on  his  head. 

Thereupon  Egholm  went  into  his  dark-room.  But 
he  felt  unable  to  work  to-day.  He  fell  to  stalking  up 
and  down  the  studio  impatiently.     Everything  seemed 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     61 

to  be  in  his  way.  Now  he  thrust  the  "  Castle  Window  " 
aside,  now  he  shifted  the  "  Grecian  Pillar."  After  a 
while  he  stepped  out  into  the  garden,  and  stood  looking 
absently  down  into  the  lily  bed.  His  glance  wandered 
farther,  up  and  down.  Ah,  a  couple  of  tiles  worked 
loose  ;  better  see  to  that  at  once. 

He  slips  round  the  corner,  picks  up  a  long,  thin  pole, 
and  tries  to  jab  the  tiles  into  place. 

Then  .  .  .  Egholm  all  but  fell  insensible,  as  one  of 
the  tiles  moved  slowly  aside  and  Si  vert's  grimy  face 
and  tousled  hair  appeared  in  the  opening. 

"  Devil !  "   he  shouted. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Si  vert  humbly. 

"I'll  drive  you  out  !  Wrecking  my  house  from 
threshold  to  roof  !  "  He  set  the  pole  aslant  against  the 
wall,  stamped  on  it  till  it  broke,  and,  snatching  up  the 
shorter  piece,  rushed  round  into  the  house  like  one 
possessed. 

Sivert  realised  that  he  would  be  caught  like  a  rat 
in  a  trap.  The  imminent  peril  gave  him  unwonted 
energy  and  wit.  Just  as  his  father  was  scrambling  up 
over  the  edge  of  the  trap-door,  Sivert  burst  bodily  through 
the  roof  itself,  scattering  the  tiles  like  fragments  of  a 
bursting  shell.  A  moment  later  and  he  was  sitting 
astride  of  the  roof-ridge. 

His  father  shouted  at  him  with  strange  words,  and 
waved  the  pole,  but  the  shortened  weapon  would  not 
reach.  Down  he  went  again  to  fetch  the  ladder  from 
outside,  and  this  time  ran  into  his  wife,  who  had  come 
to  see  what  had  happened. 

"  What  are  you  doing  now — what's  happening  ?  " 
she  asked  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Traitor  !  "    cried  Egholm,  thrusting  her  aside. 

But  when  Fru  Egholm  came  out  into  the  garden  and 


62    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

found  her  first  -  born  seated  where  only  sparrow  and 
starling  had  been  known  to  sit  before,  she  turned  giddy. 
She  ran  after  her  husband,  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and 
cried  despairingly  : 

"  Egholm,  mark  my  words,  if  you  kill  the  boy,  you 
kill  me  too  !  " 

"  You  wait  and  see  what  I'll  do  !  "  said  Egholm 
bitterly,  tugging  at  the  ladder  where  it  hung. 

But  Sivert  the  fugitive  leaned  back  against  the 
chimney-pot,  largely  at  ease,  and  thrilled  with  the 
sweetness  of  his  dehverance.  He  was  out  in  the  sun  once 
more.  The  dark  and  dusty  refuge  he  had  chosen  had 
grown  unendurable  of  late.  He  knew,  moreover,  that 
the  ladder  would  not  help  matters  much,  so  there  was  no 
immediate  peril.  It  was  quite  amu  ing,  really,  to  see 
the  pair  of  them  down  below  quarrelling  about  him, 
while  he  sat  there,  inaccessibly  above  them,  and  master 
of  his  fate. 

"  Come  up  here  and  look  at  the  view,"  he  cried,  with 
a  giggle.     "  It's  grand." 

The  sun-heated  tiles  were  lovely  and  warm ;  he 
could  feel  them  through  the  seat  of  his  trousers.  He 
settled  himself  in  an  ea>ier  pose,  combed  his  tangled  hair 
with  splayed  fingers,  brushed  off  the  white  and  dust 
from  his  clothes  here  and  there,  and  hailed  again  : 

"  Go  and  get  the  glasses,  and  if  you  see  a  greenish- 
looking  man  high  up  in  the  sky,  it's  me.  But  you'd 
better  be  quick  before  I  get  higher  up  still."  Then, 
after  a  pause,  he  added  : 

"  If  I'm  not  in  to  supper,  you  can  send  me  something 
to  eat  up  here  !  " 

His  father  waved  a  threatening  hand. 

"  You  young  devil — you  shan't  get  out  of  this 
alive  !  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     63 

"  Shouldn't  stand  under  the  eaves,"  said  Si  vert,  with 
a  grin.     "  Might  come  on  to  rain,  you  know." 

Then  a  still  more  brilHant  idea  occurred  to  him.  He 
turned  his  hack  on  them.  Forgot  them,  ignored  them. 
What  were  they  to  him  ?  He  devoted  himself  instead  to 
attracting  the  attention  of  casual  passers-by. 

"  Hey,  Ditlev  Pl0k,  look  up  here  while  I've  got  my 
feet  off  the  ground,  and  see  if  my  boots  want  soling. 
Oh,  they  don't,  don't  they  ?  Well,  they  soon  will,  for  I'm 
going  to  dance  with  various  young  ladies  from  the  fancy 
drapery  in  the  near  future." 

Ditlev  Plok  was  an  old  friend,  and  Sivert  treated 
him  as  such.  Wayfarers  with  whom  he  was  not  ac- 
quainted, he  greeted  with  a  respectful  bow,  having  first 
drawn  their  attention  to  his  perch  by  coughing  loudly. 
Now,  here  was  a  fine  lady  coming,  in  a  white  hat. 
"Ahem !  "  Sivert  raised  his  hat  straight  above  his  head, 
as  if  hoisting  it  on  a  flagstaff.  The  lady  nodded,  walked 
on  a  few  paces,  then  stopped,  and  regarded  the  house 
intently.  Sivert  looked  down  abashed  :  it  was  Hedvig's 
mistress. 

"  Is  Egholm  at  home  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Eh  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  Kasper  Egholm,  if  he's  not  too  busy." 

"  You'll  find  him  round  by  the  black-currants.  Just 
round  the  corner — that  way.  I  couldn't  hear  you  at 
first,  being  so  high  up.  The  sound  only  gets  as  far  as 
my  knees,  you  know.  Yes,  you'll  find  him  round  the 
corner.     And  he  won't  be  busy,  no,  not  at  aU  !  " 

This  last  sentence  Sivert  himself  found  so  amusing 
that  he  almost  rocked  himself  off  the  roof.  His  father 
was  most  undeniably  busy  at  the  moment.  His  face 
was  flushed  far  up  over  his  bald  pate.  Every  time  he 
succeeded  in  getting  the  ladder  up  to  the  farthest  point 


64    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

it  would  reach,  his  wife  clutched  at  it  and  dragged  it 
down  again  with  a  crash. 

"  You  dare  do  that  once  again,"  said  Egholm, 
breathless  and  almost  beside  himself,  "  and  I'll  .  .  ." 

She  dared. 

Egholm  looked  round  thoughtfully,  cold-bloodedly. 
He  was  looking  for  something — something  important  ; 
he  had  had  it  a  moment  ago.  Half  of  a  broken  pole  .  .  . 
ah,  there  it  was  ! 

"  You  may  strike  me  if  you  hke,  but  you  shan't 
touch  the  boy  !  "  said  Fru  Egholm,  cHnging  desperately 
to  the  ladder,  as  if  resolved  to  keep  it  down,  if  need  be, 
with  her  dead  body. 

Just  at  that  moment  some  one  came  round  the  corner 
of  the  house,  not  a  yard  away — a  lady. 

Egholm  was  seized  with  a  strange  confusion.  His 
hands  trembled,  as  if  it  had  been  the  Evil  One  himself 
before  him.  He  hardly  saw  what  she  was  like  at  aU — 
saw  only  that  she  lifted  the  strands  of  honeysuckle  aside 
with  a  daintily  gloved  hand.  A  strange  customer  to  be 
coming  to  his  studio,  he  thought.  He  set  his  pole  up 
against  the  waU  as  carefully  as  if  it  had  been  a  precious 
piece  of  apparatus.  "  I  can  leave  it  here  for  the  present," 
he  thought  confusedly.  Then,  turning  to  his  visitor, 
with  a  bow  and  a  smile,  but  keeping  his  eyes  averted,  he 
said : 

"  This  way,  if  you  please.  My  studio  is  round 
the  corner  here.  I  will  be  at  your  service  in  one 
moment." 

Fru  van  Haag  understood  his  error,  and  purposely 
allowed  it  to  continue.  She  could  have  her  photograph 
taken  and  then  go  again — she  had  not  announced  herself 
yet.  Yes,  that  was  the  best  thing  to  do.  For  it  was 
utterly  impossible  to  make  herself  knowQ  to  this  maii 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     65 

and  appear  pleased  at  meeting  him  again  His  whole 
appearance  disgusted  her. 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  walked  on  ahead  of  him 
into  the  waiting-room. 

"  Brush  and  comb  here,  if  you  would  Hke  to  arrange 
your  hair  a  httle,"  he  said,  pointing  to  some  tilings  under 
the  glass.  Next  moment  he  was  aware  of  his  tactless- 
ness, and  tried  to  laugh  it  off,  but  only  made  matters 
worse,  and,  in  his  further  confusion,  caught  his  visitor 
by  the  arm,  drew  her  into  the  studio,  pointed  to  a  high- 
backed  chair,  and  disappeared.  In  a  couple  of  seconds 
he  was  back  again,  arranging  the  curtains,  and  shifting 
the  camera  into  place. 

"  Er  —  how  would  you  wish  to  be  taken?"  he 
inquired.  "  Half-length,  or  just  the  ordinary  portrait  ? 
I  forgot  to  ask.  Er — as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  generally 
leave  it  to  me." 

"  Portrait,  if  you  please." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  think  that  will  be  excellent." 

Fru  van  Haag  sat  in  her  chair  watching  him  as' he 
fussed  about  and  ducked  down  under  the  green  cloth. 

She  felt  only  disgust,  and  deep,  almost  humiliating 
disappointment  at  the  sight  of  him. 

Not  a  feature  left,  she  thought,  shaking  her  head. 
Those  frayed  sleeves  hanging  loose  and  empty  at  the 
wrists — why  doesn't  the  man  wear  cuffs  ?  And  his 
nails — with  a  mourning  edge  .  .  .  ugh  !  He  ought  to 
be  ashamed.  Even  his  head  was  deformed  by  the 
loss  of  his  hair.  That  expanse  of  shivering  naked- 
ness on  top  was  perhaps  the  worst  of  all.  And  then  a 
fringe  of  ragged  tufts,  hke  an  old  man,  round  the  ears 
and  over  his  collar.  .  .  .  No,  she  could  never  forgive 
Kasper  Egholm  for  having  grown  as  hateful  to  look  on 
as  the  fiend  himself.  She  was  incensed  at  this  man  for 
5 


66    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

having  stolen  the  name  of  one  she  had  known  as  a  hand- 
some lad,  and  her  friend. 

Hedvig  was  right. 

And  that  woman,  his  wife,  was  no  downtrodden 
specimen  of  the  "  ordinary."  Fru  van  Haag  could  not 
get  out  of  her  mind  one  Httle  thing  she  had  noticed  as  she 
appeared  without  warning  round  the  corner :  Egholm's 
little  wife  had  been  down  on  her  knees,  pleading  with 
uphfted  hands.  But  the  moment  she  caught  sight  of  a 
stranger,  she  had  bent  down  and  started  weeding  without 
once  looking  up.  It  was  enough  to  bring  the  tears  to 
one's  eyes  to  think  of  it. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  pity  for  Fru  Egholm  won 
her  to  the  thing  her  admiration  for  the  Kasper  Egholm 
of  the  old  days  had  failed  to  accomplish.  Just  as 
Egholm  had  got  his  camera  ready,  and  was  casting  a 
last  critical  glance  at  her  pose,  she  rose  to  her  feet,  walked 
towards  him,  queenly  proud,  and  said  : 

"  I  really  only  came  to  see  you.  I  am  Consul  Steen's 
daughter  from  Helsingor." 

Egholm  turned  sickly  pale,  but  he  went  on  fumbling 
with  his  apparatus,  and  said,  without  looking  up  : 

"  Consul  Steen's  daughter !  I  am  very  greatly 
honoured,  I  am  sure.  Yes — it  is  many  years  now. 
Yes.  .  .  .  Er,  if  you  would  not  mind  facing  a  trifie 
more  that  way  .  .  .  towards  the  door.  ..." 

Fru  van  Haag  took  a  step  farther  towards  him,  and 
said  almost  angrily  : 

"  Really,  you  give  me  a  strange  reception,  Kasper 
Egholm.  I  send  you  a  message,  which  you  do  not 
answer,  and  now  that  I  have  come  myself,  you  creep 
in  under  your  green  cloth  and  won't  even  shake  hands." 

Egholm  stammered  with  difficulty  : 

"  I  never  got  your  message,  and  I  did  not  see  your 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     67 

hand.  What  am  I  to  say,  when  I'm  wishing  all  the 
time  I  were  dead  ?  What  brought  you  here  just  now  ? 
You  could  not  have  come  at  a  worse  time." 

"  You  struck  her  !  " 

"  No.     But  I  was  just  going  to." 

This  remarkable  frankness  was  disconcerting. 

"  But  what  on  earth  has  she  done  ?  " 

Egholm  felt  his  case  a  thought  less  hopeless  now. 
He  was  full  of  accusation  against  Anna.  If  he 
could  only  get  it  all  said,  then.  ...  He  explained  that 
she  had  been  keeping  Sivert  in  hiding — against  his  will 
and  knowledge.  Stolen  food  for  him  all  the  time.  And 
now,  just  when  he  had  discovered  it  all,  she  came  be- 
tween them — thrust  herself  between  the  culprit  and  the 
punishment  he  deserved. 

"  Sivert  ?  That  was  the  young  man  up  on  the  roof, 
then  ?     But  what  had  he  done  ?  " 

Egholm  was  silent  and  dismayed.  Here,  face  to 
face  with  this  woman  from  another  world,  he  saw  things 
suddenly  in  a  different  light.  All  that  had  seemed 
natural,  a  matter  of  course,  before,  was  now  ridiculous, 
impossible.  But  he  could  not  stand  there  speechless  ;  he 
flung  out  one  hand  and  began  in  a  tense  whisper  to  tell 
of  his  money  affairs,  his  difficulties,  how  he  had  thought 
".  .  .  Petrea  Bisserup,  daughter  of  a  wealthy  brush- 
maker.  ..."  But  Sivert  had  upset  all  his  plans  for  the 
marriage  by  hiding  himself  away.  "  And  now,  with  the 
quarterly  bills  coming  in  .  .  ." 

Fru  van  Haag  felt  herself  overcome  by  a  sort  of 
mental  dizziness.  As  long  as  she  merely  hstened, 
Egholm's  story  was  simply  amusing,  fantastic  and  un- 
natural as  it  was.  But  every  time  that  she  glanced  at 
the  man  himself,  with  his  downcast  eyes  and  desper- 
ately fiuTowed  brow,  she  reaUsed  that  he  expected  her 


68    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

to  take  it  as  bitter,  tragic  reality.  In  the  end,  she 
forgot  her  anger  and  disgust.  She  grasped  his  arm,  as  if 
to  shake  him  back  to  his  senses,  and  said,  with  unfeigned 
astonishment  : 

"  Kasper  Egholm  !     Are  you  altogether  mad  ?  " 
"  I — I  dare  say  I  am,"  he  said  hesitatingly.     He  felt 
himself  at  the  moment  as  if  he  were  awakening  to  some- 
thing new. 


VI 

IT  is  generally  agreed  that  the  best  way  of  getting 
properly  into  a  story  is  to  skip  the  commence- 
ment. Fru  van  Haag  and  Egholm  decided  to  do 
so  now.  They  sat  here  now,  caUing  up  memories  gay 
and  sad  from  the  old  days.  Neither,  apparently,  had 
any  recollection  of  a  howhng  savage  who  had  recently 
been  discovered  brandishing  a  broken  rafter  over  the  head 
of  a  woman  on  her  knees.  The  woman  herself  had  for- 
gotten it.  They  had  called  her  in,  and  she  had  shaken 
hands  with  Hedvig's  mistress,  after  wiping  her  own 
hand  many  times  on  her  apron.  She  had  been  working 
in  the  garden,  she  explained,  and  her  hands  weren't  fit 
to  be  seen.  Honoured  and  dehghted,  she  stood  smihng, 
and  listened  to  the  pair  as  they  talked. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  wonderful  time,"  said  Egholm.  "  The 
air  seemed  different  altogether.  And  people,  too.  No 
poverty  anywhere.  Heavy  silver  things  in  every  home. 
Thoroughbred  horses  in  the  stables.  The  Consul  him- 
self never  drove  with  more  than  a  pair,  but  his  brother- 
in-law  and  several  of  the  others  always  used  four  for 
best  carriages." 

"  And  the  dinner-parties  !  " 

"  Yes — and  the  garden-parties  most  of  all,  I  re- 
member one  especially,  when  the  garden  was  ht  up  all 
round  with  a  hundred  torches,  flaming  red  and  smoking." 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  time  when  the  French  warships 
were  there." 

6g 


70     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  So  it  was,  yes.  Ah,  that  was  a  grand  fete  !  And 
I'd  helped  to  make  the  torches  myself,  but  I  had  to  stay 
outside," 

"  Not  all  the  time  !  " 

"  Not  all  the  time  ?  Did  I  come  in,  then  ?  Do  you 
remember  anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  Wasn't  there  some  one  who  asked  you  to  come  in 
and  gave  you  champagne  ?  " 

"  By  the  Chinese  paviHon  ?  Was  that  then  ?  Oh, 
you  called  to  me  in  the  dark.  Seen  me  stealing  round, 
of  course.  And  I  remember  you  told  Jespersen,  the 
grocery  assistant,  who  was  looking  after  the  wine,  to 
pour  me  out  a  glass.  His  eyes  went  green  with  envy, 
but  he  had  to  when  you  said." 

"  Two  glasses.     One  for  you  and  one  for  me." 

"  One  for  you  and  one  for  me — yes,"  said  Egholm. 
And  for  a  moment  he  was  lost  in  dreams  that  curved  his 
lips  to  a  smile.  Jomfru  Clara — Clara  Steen  that  was — did 
she  remember  what  came  after  ?  How  he  had  kissed  her 
hand,  beside  himself  with  joy,  and  she  had  let  him,  but 
boxed  his  ears  when  he  tried  to  draw  her  to  him,  and  fled 
across  the  lawn  hke  a  fluttering  moth.  Oh,  but  it  had 
been  a  sorrowful  ending.  And  there  was  more  besides. 
.  .   .   He  might  perhaps  venture  to  remind  her  of  that. 

"  And  your  father  found  it  out,  and  sent  you  over  to 
Sweden  for  months.  It  was  Kammerjunkeren's  son 
that  sneaked.  I  really  believe  he's  the  only  creature 
I've  ever  really  hated.  A  lanky,  dried-up  slip  of  a 
fellow." 

Fru  van  Haag  smiled  strangely. 

"  You  don't  remember  his  name,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  call  it  to  mind.  Wait  a  bit,  though. 
Wasn't  it  van  der  Velde  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bad  guess.     Van  Haag  was  his  name." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     71 

"Oh,  Egholm  !  "  cried  Fru  Egholm,  flushing  with 
shame. 

But  Fru  van  Haag  whiried  them  both  away  with  her 
irresistible  laugh,  and  then  went  on,  refreshed. 

"  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Egholm,  "  that  you 
never  knew.  I  went  to  Sweden  myself,  to  find  you.  It 
was  a  hard  winter  that  year,  and  the  Sound  was  frozen 
over.  And  I  walked  across  one  Sunday  morning,  and 
did  get  a  sight  of  you,  through  a  Ughted  window,  late  in 
the  afternoon.  It  wasn't  much  of  a  result,  but  I  was 
hugely  pleased  with  it  myself,  and  started  back,  and  lost 
my  way  on  the  ice,  and  got  frost-bite  in  my  feet.  For 
eight  weeks  I  couldn't  attend  to  my  work  in  the  shop. 
The  Consul  was  angry  enough  as  it  was.  But  if  he'd 
known  what  it  was  took  me  out  over  the  ice  that  day,  he 
wouldn't  have  kept  me  as  long  as  he  did.  And  that 
was  only  till  next  spring,  when  you  came  home." 

"  Poor  Kasper  Egholm,"  said  Fru  van  Haag  softly. 
She  would  have  said  more,  but  checked  herself.  For 
the  first  time  during  their  talk  she  felt  herself  hampered 
by  the  fact  that  Egholm's  little  wife  stood  there,  leaning 
her  head  over  this  way  and  that  in  her  endeavour  to  take 
part  in  something  that  she  felt  she  could  not  share. 
Now  was  the  time  for  a  tactful  transition  to  the 
present,  with  the  two  principal  parties  once  more 
firmly  established  as  apart,  each  castled  in  their  own 
wedded  life. 

Egholm  came  to  her  aid,  sajdng,  with  a  sigh  : 

"  But  the  golden  days  are  gone.  We  left  the  mansion 
of  Consul  Steen  to  go  each  our  own  way.  You  towards 
the  sun,  and  I  into  the  night.  And  we  travelled  round 
the  world,  to  meet  again  in — Knarreby.  You  must 
have  lived  like  a  princess  all  the  time.  Your  shoes,  your 
silken  dress  have  never  been  soiled  by  the  dust  of  the 


72     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

road.     And  here  am  I,  a  bald,  old,  worn-out  man,  living 
in  a  mud  hut." 

Fru  van  Haag  said  firmly  : 

"  My  dress  is  not  silk  at  all.  And  as  for  calling  your 
house  here  a  mud  hut,  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing. 
Fve  walked  down  this  road  three  times  just  to  look  at 
the  prettiest  house  in  Knarreby.  And  then  to  find 
the  man  who  lives  there  grumbling  at  the  place — you 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  !  " 

Egholm  felt  a  glow  of  pleasant  warmth  at  her  words. 
Still,  he  tried  again  : 

"  There's  no  proper  foundation  to  the  place ;  it's 
just  made  of  odd  bits  stuck  together," 

"  You  might  say  the  same  of  yourself  and  me.  But 
we're  not  expected  to  live  for  ever,  are  we  ?  Or  take 
our  houses  with  us  when  we  die  ?  It's  a  house  out  of  a 
fairy  tale  !  " 

Egholm's  delight  flamed  up  rich  and  red  at  this. 
Here  was  his  most  secret  thought  uttered  casually,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  by  this  proud,  beautiful  woman,  the 
love  of  his  youth.  All  the  scornful  taunts  that  had  been 
thrown  at  him  by  his  fellows  were  flung  back  in  their 
faces  now.  The  prettiest  house  in  Knarreby  stood  there, 
white  and  foliage-crowned,  as  he  had  dreamed. 

He  reached  out  bhndly  for  her  hand,  but  collided 
with  his  wife's,  on  the  same  errand.  And  Fru  van  Haag 
gave  him  her  left  with  a  smile.  That,  too,  was  a  good, 
strong  hand  to  hold. 

Anna  Egholm  murmured  something  vaguely : 
Heavens,  had  she  been  standing  all  this  time  and  never 
so  much  as  asked  what  Fruen  would  take  ?  A  little 
Syltetoj,^  now  .  .  . 

Just  as  she  left  the  room,  Emanuel  came  rushing  in 

1  Preserved  fruit. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     73 

from  the  waiting-room.  Looking  neither  to  right  nor 
left,  he  rushed  up  to  his  father's  table,  jumped  on  a  chair, 
and  slapped  at  the  bracket ;  the  25  0re  fell  into  the 
cap  he  held  in  the  other  hand. 

"  It's  mine  now  !  "  he  said,  with  a  smile  and  a  firm 
little  nod.  Then  his  expression  changed  to  one  of 
hesitation  and  shyness  on  seeing  there  was  a  visitor. 

"  Go  and  say  Goddag  to  the  finest  and  loveliest  lady 
in  the  world,"  said  his  father. 

Fru  van  Haag  kept  the  boy's  little  slender  hand  in 
hers,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  full  of  kindly 
warmth. 

"  Was  it  your  money  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  not  before.  I  was  to  have  it  when  I  came 
back." 

"  So  you've  been  out  on  an  errand  for  father  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Emanuel  sought  his  father's  eye,  but  Egholm  was 
looking  straight  ahead.  Then  it  occurred  to  the  lad  that 
it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  appear  as  a  hero  in  the  sight 
of  the  finest  and  loveliest  lady  in  the  world — his  father 
had  called  her  so,  and  he  had  no  doubt  of  it  himself. 
With  evident  pride,  he  went  on,  "  I've  been  out  pro- 
posing to  the  ugliest  girl  you  ever  saw." 

"  Good  heavens,  child  ! — proposing  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  Si  vert  didn't  dare  to,  so  father 
said  .  .  ." 

Egholm  would  have  preferred  to  conceal  Emanuel's 
intervention  in  the  matter  of  Si  vert's  intended. 
Already  Fru  van  Haag  had  asked  him  with  insistent 
earnestness  if  he  were  mad.  Would  she  now  ask  the 
same  question  again  ?  To  save  the  situation  as  far  as 
possible,  he  put  in  now  :. 


74  THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  You  little  stupid,  Fruen  will  think  you  were  asking 
on  your  own  account.  It  was  for  Si  vert,  you  know  that 
quite  weU.     Why  don't  you  say  so  ?  " 

Emanuel  was  abashed  at  finding  himself  thus  cor- 
rected. But  Fru  van  Haag  gave  never  a  thought  to  the 
question  of  sanity.  Such  a  delightful  piece  of  absurdity 
could  never  have  occurred  at  the  Kgl.  Toldbod  that  was 
her  home.  Nor  had  she  ever  in  any  place  met  with  folk 
who  brought  up  such  extravagant  ideas  in  perfect  serious- 
ness. She  felt  like  jumping  up  and  embracing  this  dila- 
pidated, bald-headed  man,  out  of  sheer  gratitude  at 
finding  anything  so  deliciously  unconventional.  She 
restrained  herself,  but  took  the  boy  on  her  lap,  and  com- 
manded him  to  tell  her  the  whole  story  from  beginning 
to  end.  Emanuel  needed  no  pressing.  Without 
laughter,  without  claiming  any  complicity,  he  stood 
before  her,  eager  only  to  relate  as  clearly  and  distinctly 
as  he  could.  His  innocence  was  complete.  His  pure 
childish  breath  fanned  her  cheek  as  he  leaned  forward 
to  examine  her  brooch  that  had  caught  his  eye. 

Petrea's  mother  had  made  her  assent  conditional  on 
Sivert's  supporting  her  as  well. 

Egholm  seemed  httle  affected  by  the  story.  What 
did  the  maddest  dreams  matter,  now  that  he  was 
awake  ? 

Fru  van  Haag  sat  stroking  Emanuel's  hair. 

Fru  Egholm  came  in,  bringing  Sylietoj  of  various  kinds 
on  little  plates.  There  was  some  gooseberry  jelly  that 
was  only  a  year  or  two  younger  than  Emanuel,  and  be- 
sides— a  dehcacy  hardly  to  be  found  elsewhere,  even  at 
Etatsraaden' s  ^ — preserved  wild  strawberries.  Fru  van 
Haag  was  dehghted,  and  Anna  was  overjoyed  at  her 

^  Etatsraad :   a   title   literally    "Councillor    of    State."     Here,    of 
course,  in<licating  the  most  distinguished  personage  in  the  town. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     75 

praise  ;  the  unwonted  appreciation  gave  her  confidence 
to  speak  out. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  tomfoolery,  sending  a 
child  on  such  an  errand  ?  " 

Fru  van  Haag  laughed.  "  But  what  is  the  poor  man 
to  do,  when  Hr.  Sivert  is  afraid  to  go  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  might  go  himself,  or  send  me." 

"  Yes,  you'd  be  a  nice  one  to  send,"  put  in  Egholm. 
"  After  pulling  the  ladder  away  just  when  I'd  .  .  ." 

"  We'll  forget  all  about  that,  if  you  please,"  said 
Fruen  firmly. 

"  Yes.     Yes,  of  course,"  said  Egholm  hurriedly. 

"  But  when  Sivert  comes  back  again,  you'll  be  just 
as  wild  as  ever." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that." 

Fru  van  Haag  saw  how  to  manage  it.  Ah,  but  she 
was  in  her  element  now.  Here  was  something  to  arrange, 
something  that  could  be  settled  as  she  willed,  not  like  the 
trimly  ordered  hedges  of  straight-clipped  box  in  the 
Toldbod's  prim  little  garden. 

"  Couldn't  we  have  Sivert  in  now  ?  I  should  like  to 
meet  him." 

"  Well,  if  we  could  only  get  hold  of  him,  but  .  .  ." 

"  Why,  isn't  he  up  in  the  loft,  then  ?  "  asked  Emanuel 
incautiously.  He  had  been  wondering  what  it  was  all 
about. 

"  Ho,  so  you  knew  all  about  it,  too,  you  young  rascal  ? 
No,  he's  broken  half  the  roof  down  and  run  away." 

"  Then  he'll  be  under  the  old  boat.     He  said  if  .  .  ." 

"  Go  and  fetch  him,"  commanded  Fru  van  Haag. 

Five  minutes  later  Emanuel  returned.  He  had  left 
the  kitchen  door  open  as  he  came  in ;  outside  stood 
Sivert,  clearing  his  throat  and  pulling  at  his  thin,  white 
moustache. 


76    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Come  inside,  you  !  " 

And  Sivert  entered,  straining  every  muscle  in  an 
attempt  at  dignity  of  carriage.  His  lips  were  com- 
pressed, his  brow  was  sternly  furrowed,  but  with  all  this 
he  did  not  look  impressive.  The  green  suit  had  suffered 
considerably  from  having  been  worn  day  and  night  for 
several  weeks.  Without  looking  up,  he  walked  as  if  led 
by  some  instinct  straight  towards  Fru  van  Haag,  and 
doubled  himself  up  in  a  deep  obeisance,  nearly  upsetting 
his  balance  in  the  process. 

"  Fruen  wishes  me  to  spare  your  life,"  said  his  father. 

"  I  am  deeply  grateful  for  that,"  said  Sivert,  with 
stark  solemnity. 

"  You  don't  know,  I  suppose,  who  this  lady  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.     And  it's  quite  true  what  Emanuel  said." 

"  What  did  Emanuel  say  ?  " 

"  '  Sitting  there  just  like  a  duchess  !  '  " 

"  Really,"  said  Fru  van  Haag,  flushing  a  little.  "  Then 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  behave  as  such.  Now,  then  ;  each 
of  you  wish  for  something,  please,  and  Fll  try  to  fulfil 
it.  Not  too  grand,  if  you  please  ;  my  duchy,  Fm 
afraid,  is  only  a  modest  one.  You  first,  Little  Mother — 
what  would  you  like  ?  " 

But  Anna  cannot  think  of  anything  to  wish  for.  No, 
not  a  single  thing  .  .  .  unless,  perhaps,  if  Fruen  could 
give  them  many  such  happy  days  as  this.  .  .  . 

"  Granted  at  once,"  says  Fruen,  stroking  the  little 
woman's  cheek.  "And  Kasper  Egholm,  I  suppose,  would 
like  a  little  Herregaard  ?  "  ^ 

"  Or  a  big  one  !  " 

"  That  will  have  to  wait  awhile,  Fm  afraid.  But 
is  there  nothing  else  we  could  manage  on  the  spot  ?  " 

But  no  ;   Egholm's  imagination  is  so  excited  by  the 

1  Herregaard :  a  country  mansion. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    77 

one  idea  that,  now  she  has  mentioned  it,  he  can  think  of 
nothing  else.  He  feels  he  lacks  but  one  thing  in  the 
world  now — a  country  mansion.  Fruen  passes  on  to  the 
next,  which  is  Si  vert.  Si  vert  makes  his  peculiar  bow 
once  more,  and,  holding  out  one  open  hand,  demands  : 

"  Go  to  America  !  " 

As  if  he  expected  the  stranger  lady  to  write  some 
charm  then  and  there  upon  his  palm  that  should  make 
him  an  American.  Perhaps  the  best  solution,  after  all, 
thought  Fruen  to  herself,  and  revised  her  opinion  of  the 
white-headed  mannildn  at  once. 

"  You  shall,  then  1  "  she  declares,  and  presses  his 
expectant  hand. 

Emanuel  blushed ;  it  was  his  turn  now.  And 
without  waiting  to  be  asked,  he  burst  out  with  his  wish  : 

"  I'd  Hke  to  be  a  priest  !  " 

"  What  terribly  difficult  things  you  all  want,"  said 
Fruen  sternly.  But  as  Emanuel  bowed  his  head  and 
blushed  hotter  still,  she  went  on,  with  a  smile  : 

"  There,  there  ;  we'll  manage  it  all  right  for  you, 
too  !  " 

A  Httle  later,  Fru  van  Haag  rose  to  go.  Egholm  and 
his  wife  went  with  her  across  the  "  bridge,"  each  being 
graciously  accorded  one  of  her  hands,  which  they  guarded 
as  long  as  possible.  It  was  as  if  the  story  of  their  life 
had  turned  suddenly  to  a  new  and  wonderful  chapter, 
in  which  every  one  lived  happily  ever  after.  Fru  van 
Haag  had  a  kindred  feeling  herself ;  as  if  she  were  a 
poet,  and  had  at  last  got  to  work  upon  something 
original. 

Hedvig  would  marvel  when  she  heard  how  the  visit 
had  turned  out.  And  she  should  not  be  left  out ;  she 
should  have  her  wish  as  well  as  the  others.  There  could 
be  little  doubt  about  what  she  would  choose  :    a  man 


78    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

with  a  big  hat  and  a  vioHn.  And  she  should  have  him, 
too,  as  sure  as  Clara  van  Haag  could  help  her.  For  that 
same  Clara  had  learnt  of  life  that  lovers  should  be  helped 
to  win  each  other. 

Walking  thus  occupied  with  her  plans,  she  reaUsed 
suddenly  that  she  herself  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  pleasure 
and  well-being.  She  had  not  felt  hke  this  for  years. 
And  then,  too,  how  the  spring  had  suddenly  come  floating 
down  from  heaven  these  last  few  days  !  Hedges  and 
gardens  were  scented  already,  even  the  grass  itself.  The 
woods  were  bright  with  greenery,  the  clouds  above  them 
gleaming  white ;  even  the  waters  of  the  Belt  seemed 
fresher  as  they  flowed  and  flowed. 

Clara  van  Haag  threw  back  her  head,  proudly 
feeling  the  weight  of  her  rich  chestnut  hair,  rejoicing 
to  feel  herself  still  young  and  strong.  Here  she  was, 
walking  with  Ught  step  over  the  stones  of  Brogade. 
Entering  happily  into  the  house  she  had  cleansed  and 
aired.  .  .  .  True,  there  was  still  that  Uving  corpse  sitting 
now,  no  doubt,  in  a  comer  of  one  of  the  rooms. 

Never  mind.  There  would  be  Hedvig  in  the  kitchen — 
Hedvig  with  her  eyes  of  crocus-blue.  There — she  was 
singing.  Singing  that  eternal  fragment  of  Malle  Duse's. 
Ah,  well,  she  and  Hedvig  would  sing  that  corpse  back 
into  its  grave  again  ! 


VII 

FRU  VAN  HAAG  guessed  right :  Hedvig  wished  for 
Johan  Fors  to  come  again,  by  day  or  by  night, 
with  his  vioUn.  She  would  not  send  him  away 
again.  But  he  did  not  come.  He  seemed  to  have 
disappeared  altogether.  When  Hedvig  had  to  go  out 
buying  cakes,  she  would  put  on  her  new  hat  and  walk 
through  Knarregade,  Algade,  and  Sondergade,  three 
whole  streets.  She  might  have  made  do  with  one,  and 
that  without  a  hat,  for  the  baker's  was  only  just  round 
the  corner.  But  Hedvig  felt  she  could  not ;  for  in 
S0ndergade  there  was  a  painter's.  The  door  to  the 
workshop  stood  open  ;  Hedvig  turned  her  head  for  a 
quick  glance.  Alas !  there  was  no  one  there  save  the 
master,  varnishing  away  at  a  dismal  oak  coffin. 

Hedvig  then  discovered  that,  with  all  the  painting 
and  cleaning,  they  had  forgotten  the  kitchen  cupboards. 
And  they  needed  doing  badly,  she  explained. 

"  Oh,  if  you  don't  mind  having  all  the  mess  about  the 
place,"  said  Fruen,  "get  it  done,  by  all  means.  You 
can  look  in  at  the  painter's  and  tell  them  to  come." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  if  Fruen  gave  the  order 
herself — any  time  Fruen  happened  to  be  that  way  ?  " 

Hedvig  thought  it  would  look  better  that  way. 

Next  day  arrived  a  lad  with  pots  and  brushes.  Hedvig 
looked  at  him  with  no  small  disdain,  as  a  creature  obvi- 
ously useless  for  anything  beyond  painting.  She  did 
condescend  so  far  as  to  ask  him  : 

79 


80    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Where's  the  man  you  had  ?     Gone  away  ?  " 

"  Which  one  ?    Johan  Fors  ?  " 

"  Who  else  should  I  mean  ?  "  said  Hedvig  carelessly. 
But  the  sound  of  the  name  had  struck  her,  and  she 
flushed. 

"  He's  working  at  a  Herregaard  a  httle  way  out — 
Lundgaard,  I  think." 

Now  Hedvig  would  have  given  much  to  know  if 
Johan  went  home  every  evening  after  his  work,  or  what. 
But  she  could  hardly  ask.     Instead,  she  went  on  : 

"  Isn't  he  the  one  that  plays  ?  " 

"  Play  ?  I  should  think  he  can  !  And  heaps  of 
things  besides,"  said  the  boy,  looking  up  with  eyes 
ahght  with  admiration. 

Whereupon  Hedvig  refreshed  that  painter  boy  with 
coffee  and  cakes.  In  the  evening,  by  some  secret  means, 
she  obtained  leave  to  go  out  at  seven,  and  walked  dream- 
ing through  the  woods  towards  Lundgaard.  Who  could 
say  .  .  .  ?  She  sat  down  on  a  white  bench  where  two 
roads  met.  Both  led  to  Lundgaard,  but  involuntarily 
she  decided  that  Johan  must  come  by  the  broader, 
level  main  road.  So  she  faced  that  way.  Again  and 
again  she  tried  to  fix  her  eyes  on  the  dancing  anemones 
or  up  towards  the  light  green  tops  of  the  beeches  ;  a 
second  after  she  was  gazing  once  more  along  the  curve 
of  the  road,  where  soon  she  began  to  fancy  all  manner 
of  fantastic  shapes.  But  none  of  them  materialised  into 
the  Hving  Johan  Fors.  She  drummed  on  her  white  front 
teeth,  and  felt  annoyed  with  herself  at  having  thus  to  run 
with  open  arms  to  one  who  had  paid  her  special  attention 
in  playing  for  her — one  who  had  been  not  a  Uttle  eager 
to  come  to  her.  But  what  did  that  matter  after  all,  as 
long  as  it  came  all  right  in  the  end  ?  And  if  she  asked 
his  pardon  in  so  many  words,  then  .  .  .  Hedvig's  eyes 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     81 

blinked  with  delicious  tears.     Yes,  she  would  humble 
herself  to  him,  though  not  to  any  other  on  earth. 

Who  was  that  coming  .  .  .  ?  Alas,  no !  only  two 
trees  crossing  as  she  moved  her  body.  Ugh,  her  neck 
was  getting  stiff.  But — there  he  was  !  No,  only  a  gnat 
in  front  of  her  nose. 

Should  she  say  "  Du"  or  "  De"  to  him  ?  He  had 
said  Du  without  ceremony  that  night.  If  only  she  had 
accepted  him,  and  let  him  play — what  if  it  had  set  the 
Toldbod  in  an  uproar.  Fruen  would  surely  have  for- 
given her  when  she  heard  how  it  was. 

Now,  as  soon  as  he  came  in  sight  round  the  bend,  she 
would  get  up  and  go  to  meet  him.  Not  beg  his  pardon, 
of  course,  not  that  way.  Not  with  her  hps — not  at  all. 
She  would  laugh  slantwise — so.  Don't  let's  be  stupid, 
Johan  ;  surely  we're  too  good  friends  to  waste  time 
quarrelUng  about  nothing  ! 

Hedvig  rose  to  her  feet  and  held  a  Httle  final  rehearsal 
of  the  smile  and  the  fling  of  her  head  that  were  to  express 
all  this. 

"  Goddag,  Johan  Fors  " — it  would  hardly  do  to  call 
him  just  "  Johan  " — and  then  stop  still  in  front  of  him 
— so  !  A  couple  of  yards  away.  Now,  try  if  you  can 
get  past  ! 

Just  then  there  came  a  sHght  sound,  which  Hedvig 
took  to  be  the  rusthng  of  leaves,  and  gave  no  further 
heed.  But  as  she  stood  there,  laughing  and  play-acting 
in  front  of  her  imaginary  Johan,  Johan  himself,  aUve 
and  in  reahty,  shot  by  on  his  cycle,  coming  from  the 
narrow  side-road.  Hedvig  turned,  just  in  time  to  catch 
his  eyes  as  he  passed.  Overwhelmed  with  shame,  she 
Uterally  collapsed.  Had  he  nodded  or  not  ?  He  could 
not  raise  his  big  hat  anyway,  for  that  was  already  flutter- 
ing in  his  left  hand,  which  held  it  together  with  the 
6 


82  THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

handlebar.  Yes,  liis  strong  face  had  certainly  bright- 
ened as  he  passed.  But  he  had  to  avoid  a  deep  rut  just 
at  that  moment,  so  he  couldn't  make  much  of  it. 

Hedvig  stepped  out  into  the  middle  of  the  road  and 
looked  after  him.  His  yellow  mane  streamed  back  from 
his  head  Hke  the  feathered  head-dress  of  an  Indian 
chief. 

But  suppose  that  smile  of  his  had  meant  something 
quite  different,  after  all  ? — suppose  he  had  realised  that 
she  was  standing  there  showing  off  on  purpose  ?  If  not, 
why  had  he  not  stopped  ? 

Hedvig  walked  disconsolately  farther  into  the  wood. 
The  flowers  seemed  to  lose  their  colour,  the  green  of  the 
beeches  was  dulled.  And  it  was  not  because  the  sun  was 
setting — not  only  that. 

She  walked  on,  careless  of  time  and  place,  till  she 
reached  a  slope  overgrown  with  high  bracken.  A  couple 
of  partridges  rose  with  a  terrifying  whirrrr.  Hedvig 
looked  round,  and  realised  that  she  had  lost  her  way. 
Ahead  of  her  was  a  forbidding  depth  of  pines  ;  black 
night  itself  was  prisoned  there,  hke  a  wild  beast  in  its 
cage.  Now  and  again  came  a  sound,  as  of  heavy  breath- 
ing, almost  even  a  snarl.  But  she  would  not  turn  back. 
She  dived  forward  into  the  dark,  the  fallen  needles 
underfoot  deadening  all  sound  save  the  whisper  of  her 
dress. 

There  was  a  moment  when  the  horror  of  the  silent 
forest  overcame  her  ;  she  felt  a  dreadful  death  was  lying 
in  wait.  She  started  to  run.  The  branches  snatched 
and  tore  at  her  \vith  their  stiff,  bony  fingers.  The  whole 
thing  lasted  hardly  a  minute. 

"  If  I  die,  I  shall  never  see  him  again,"  she  thought. 
And  the  idea  filled  her  with  an  indomitable  desire  of  life. 
She  would  at  least  stay  on  the  same  earth  with  him. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     83 

And  in  a  moment  she  was  herself  again.  The  sound 
she  had  heard — it  must  be  the  waves  !  In  a  minute  or 
two  she  would  come  out  on  the  shore — then  it  would  be 
easy  to  find  the  way. 

"  It  was  you  that  helped  me,"  thought  Hedvig  to 
herself  as  she  reached  the  open  strand.  A  httle  grey 
Hght  still  remained  of  the  day  ;  there  was  even  a  touch 
of  red  in  the  west,  where  the  sun  had  gone  down. 

This  is  a  reHef,  but  her  legs  still  tremble  under  her 
a  little.  And  she  has  no  strength  left  with  which  to 
meet  a  new  shock  to  her  nerves. 

It  comes  in  the  shape  of  a  vague  black  something 
a  little  distance  off  as  she  rounds  a  sloping  bank.  Some- 
thing ahve,  rocking  backwards  and  forwards  in  an  un- 
canny, inexpUcable  fashion — something  big  and  alive — 
a  beast  of  some  sort,  or  a  human  being.  .  .  . 

Hedvig  comes  to  a  standstill — her  feet  refuse  to  carry 
her  farther. 

The  figure  ahead  towers  higher  now  in  the  dark,  turns 
towards  her  with  a  gleam  of  something  white — a  face 
.  .  .  and  utters  a  roar,  a  cry  .  .  . 

Hedvig  makes  no  sound,  but  her  eyes  grow  wider 
and  her  mouth  hangs  open. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  " 

And  suddenly  she  realises  that  it  is  her  father. 
She  draws  a  deep  breath  between  chattering  teeth,  and 
moves  as  if  to  pass  by  without  a  word. 

"  Who's  that,  I  say  ?  Why,  what  on  earth  .  .  . 
You,  Hedvig  ?  " 

Hedvig  marked  how  her  father's  voice  changed  from 
fear  and  fury  to  something  like  relief  ;  she  could  not  help 
turning  and  stopping. 

"  But — what  on  earth  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

She  was  about  to  say  she  had  lost  her  way.     But  her 


84     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

father  evidently  cared  nothing  for  any  answer  ;  he  went 
on,  coming  up  close  to  her  now  : 

"  Wait  for  me  a  minute,  and  we'll  go  together.  Yes, 
do.  There's  no  sense  in  going  on  being  enemies.  Come 
back  with  me  just  a  few  steps  and  I'll  show  you  some- 
thing. I  feel  I  simply  can't  be  angry  with  anyone  now 
I've  seen  her — your  mistress,  I  mean.  Only  fancy,  she's 
just  the  same — the  very  same  as  when  she  was  a  child, 
or  a  young  girl.  .  .  ." 

He  gripped  her  by  the  arm  and  said,  with  eager  feeling : 

"Enviable  creature!  You  —  you  have  her  near 
you  every  blessed  day  !  " 

Hedvig  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  father,  but  he  simply 
stood  there  shaking  his  head  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy  ;  she 
could  not  read  his  face  in  the  dark. 

"  What  was  it  you  were  going  to  show  me  ?  " 

"  Ah  yes,  I  forgot.     Come  here." 

He  drew  her  across  to  a  point  where  the  edge  of  the 
bank  was  drawn  out  into  a  kind  of  promontory  ;  in  day- 
light there  would  be  a  wide  view  to  either  side.  She 
followed  him,  nervously  and  reluctantly,  a  few  steps  up  ; 
then  he  bent  down,  felt  on  the  ground  with  one  hand, 
and  said  : 

"  What  do  you  think  this  is  ?  " 

"  I  can't  see  .  .  ." 

"  Bend  down,  then." 

She  did  so,  and  saw  that  the  earth  had  been  dug  up 
as  in  a  series  of  long  beds  one  above  the  other.  It  looked 
exactly  like  a  doll's  garden  such  as  children  make. 
Here  and  there  little  white  stones  were  to  be  seen, 
further  reminding  her  of  childish  decorations.  She 
imagined  that  this  queer  father  of  hers  had  in  a  moment 
of  weakness  revealed  a  new  phase  of  his  madness  ;  that 
he  really  came  out  here  in  the  woods  and  played  at 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     85 

gardens  by  himself.  She  grew  angry  at  the  thought, 
but  dared  say  no  more  than  : 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  it  means,  I'm  sure." 

Then  said  Egholm  : 

"  This,  Hedvig,  is  my  place  of  sacrifice.  Here  I 
have  prayed  and  sacrificed  to  God  every  single  day, 
almost  from  the  time  I  came  to  the  town.  Every  day 
the  same,  whether  in  rain  or  wind,  summer  or  winter. 
Here  I  have  knelt  many  a  Christmas  Eve.  Here  I  have 
suffered  and  striven.  And  each  time,  I  have  offered  up 
a  sacrifice  to  God — these  little  white,  smooth  stones. 
Stones  are  as  precious  in  His  eyes  as  gold.  Nine  smooth 
stones  at  least  every  time.  Here  they  are,  lying  in  rows 
up  the  slope.  Look  at  them — loads  and  loads  of  them. 
Twenty  or  thirty  thousand  stones." 

Hedvig  was  touched.  Here  was  her  father  talking 
so  kindly,  showing  her  with  a  sort  of  modest  pride  the 
results  of  his  work.  Herregud,  such  pains  he  had  taken 
over  it,  and  for  all  that  he  stood  there  in  his  wretched 
clothes,  hat  in  hand,  like  any  humble  mendicant.  But 
it  was  only  for  a  moment.  She  crushed  the  rising 
pity  firmly  back.  Years  and  years  of  humbug  !  Thirty 
thousand  pebbles  stuck  into  the  ground  one  by  one. 
No,  they  had  not  softened  the  heart  of  God — they 
should  not  soften  hers  ! 

"  And  what  have  you  got  out  of  it  all  in  the  end?  " 
she  asked  harshly. 

"  Fru  van  Haag  has  come  !  "  he  answered.  And 
Hedvig  saw  how  his  face  turned  heavenward  as  he  spoke. 

"  Did  you  pray  for  her,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  never !  Nothing  of  all  that  I  prayed  for  has 
ever  been  fulfilled,  but  since  God  has  granted  me  this 
great  joy,  it  shows  He  must  have  appreciated  my  good 
will.     And  from  now  onwards,  I  shall  pray  no  more. 


86     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Only  give  thanks  and  make  thank-offerings.  He  knows 
much  better  what  is  best  for  me.  You  see,  it  will  all 
come  right  now  that  she  is  here." 

They  walked  on  together  into  the  town.  Egholm 
stepped  as  confidently  in  the  dark  as  by  day  ;  he  had 
trodden  the  path  a  thousand  times.  When  they  passed 
a  streamlet,  he  reached  out  a  hand  to  help  her.  This 
was  a  change,  indeed  !     Haha  !   perhaps  he  was  in  love  ! 

As  if  reading  her  thought,  Egholm  answered  the 
question  in  her  mind  at  once. 

"  I  look  on  her  as  a  saint — yes,  a  saint.  And  I  be- 
lieve she  can  work  miracles.  '  Wish  ! '  she  said.  And 
I  wished  for  a  country  house.  And  you  see  I  shall  get 
it!" 

Hedvig  may  have  smiled  a  little  at  this.  But  she, 
too, looked  up  to  her  mistress  with  unbounded  admiration. 

Her  father  walked  with  her  as  far  as  the  Toldbod. 
This  was  the  first  time  they  had  ever  spoken  together 
as  two  human  beings. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said,  and  stood  watching  her  as  she 
went  in. 

Once  on  the  stairs,  Hedvig  fell  back  to  her  own 
gloomy  thoughts  once  more.  She  seemed  to  understand 
now  that  every  one  else  might  be  happy — every  one  but 
she  herself.  When  she  reached  her  room,  she  threw 
herself  down  on  the  bed  in  tears.  Then  she  heard  a 
light  step  in  the  passage  outside. 

"  Hedvig — just  a  minute.     It's  me." 

It  was  Fruen's  voice.     Hedvig  opened  the  door. 

"  Matches — have  you  a  box  of  matches  ?  I  Hke  to 
have  them  ready,  in  case  .  .  .  No,  Hedvig,  I'm  telUng 
stories.  The  matches  were  there  all  right — I  hid  them 
under  my  pillow.  I'm  waiting  for  him  to  go  to  bed. 
He's  such  a  sight  when  he's  undressing.     And  it  always 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     87 

takes  him  half  an  hour.  I've  never  got  used  to  it  yet, 
though  I've  been  married  all  these  years.  He's  dreadful 
without  his  collar,  and  worse  still  without  his  trousers.  .  .  . 
Oh,  I  ought  not  to  talk  like  this  to  you,  child.  But  when 
he  goes  over  to  the  washstand — as  if  it  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  .  .  .  Hedvig,  may  I  sit  here 
just  for  twenty  minutes  ?  Where  have  you  been  all 
the  evening,  child  ?  Out  with  your  hig  man  with  the 
hat  ?  Let  me  see  if  you  look  happy.  But,  good  heavens, 
child !  .  .  .  Crying  .  .  .  ?  " 

Then  Hedvig  told  her  all  about  Johan.  Fruen  was 
in  her  nightdress  ;  she  crept  up  into  Hedvig's  bed  and 
Hstened  without  a  word.  The  light  of  a  lantern  out  on 
the  quay  found  its  way  to  her  great  brilliant  eyes.  Then, 
when  Hedvig  had  ceased,  she  said  calmly  and  decisively  : 

"  He  shaU  be  your  sweetheart." 

"  But  how  ?  "  asked  Hedvig  simply. 

"  He  will  come  of  his  own  accord,  and  then  you 
simply  say  no  !     That's  the  way." 

"  But— but  that's  what  I  did  last  time." 

"  Ah,  but  next  time  he'll  take  you  in  spite  of  your 
no  ! — that  is,  if  he's  the  man  we  think  he  is." 

"  Shall  I  run  after  him,  then  ...  I  mean  ..." 

"  Not  a  step  !  " 

Hedvig  felt  relieved.  The  light  from  the  quay 
shone  on  her  white  teeth.  She  told  of  her  meeting  with 
her  father  in  the  grey  of  the  wood  ;  of  his  sacrificial 
grove.  And  she  repeated  his  words  about  her  mistress 
— a  saint  that  could  work  miracles,  and  would  get  him 
his  wish  as  she  had  said.   .  .  . 

"  Oh  .  .  .  did  he  say  that  ?  "  murmured  Fru  van  Haag 
softly.  And  the  lantern  rays  gathered  in  a  single  gUtter- 
ing  drop  that  sUpped  down  over  her  right  cheek.  A 
little  after  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  said  : 


88     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  I've  been  such  a  useless  wretch.  And  now,  here 
in  Knarreby,  to  rise  beyond  all  I've  ever  been  before. 
First  a  duchess,  then  a  saint.  But,  as  true  as  there's 
blood  in  my  veins,  I'll  be  something,  do  something,  for 
you  all!  " 

Fru  van  Haag  went  back  to  her  room,  and  sUpped 
silently  into  bed.  Her  husband  lay  there  close  by, 
wearing  the  apparatus  he  had  bought  in  Berlin  to  keep 
his  moustache  in  place.  His  hands  were  folded  piously 
in  front  of  him  on  the  clothes,  as  it  might  be  an  old 
woman.  She  could  not  help  laughing — and  it  struck 
her  suddenly  that  she  had  never  laughed  before — not  at 
him. 

But — why  not  look  at  him  like  that  ? 

And  in  a  little  while  she  was  busy  with  bright  thoughts 
undisturbed. 

A  country  mansion — Holy  orders — a  passage  to 
America — and  a  painter  man  with  a  big  hat.  ...  It  was 
not  so  easy  to  manage  it  all,  but  .  .  . 


VIII 

Two  months  passed.  Generally  speaking,  Httle 
happens  in  Knarreby  in  two  months.  But  the 
rule  has  been  set  aside  since  Fru  van  Haag  came 
to  the  place.  Scarcely  a  day  but  she  herself  does  some- 
thing new  and  remarkable. 

Yesterday  she  stopped  a  runaway  horse.  To-morrow 
she  is  going  to  a  christening  at — no,  not  Etatsraaden's, 
but — the  lamplighter's.  What  she  will  do  to-day. 
Heaven  only  knows.  See,  here  she  comes,  walking 
along — dancing  along,  one  might  be  tempted  to  say — 
down  the  street,  dressed  without  any  particular  smart- 
ness. Not  even  gloves  on,  no  going-out  things  at  all, 
beyond  her  big  white  hat. 

Now  she  stops  outside  the  "  Fancy  Drapery  Estab- 
lishment," as  Lund  the  draper  loves  to  call  his  shop. 
The  window  displays  three  mantles  hung  on  stands. 
Fruen  casts  a  casual  glance  at  them. 

But  little  Lund  buzzes  round  inside  like  a  frantic 
bluebottle  behind  the  window. 

Heavens  ahve  !  If  only  he  could  get  her  for  a 
customer  ! 

He  rushes  to  the  desk,  and  next  moment  Fru  van 
Haag  sees  his  httle  podgy  hand  steahng  in  from  behind 
among  the  mantles,  pinning  a  ticket  on  the  ugliest : 

"  Latest  fashion. 

Reduced  Price  :  Kr.  52.97." 

89 


so    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Fruen  raises  her  eyebrows  and  walks  on.  But  Lund 
dashes  out  on  to  the  steps  and  hails  her  breezily  : 

"  Lovely  day  !  " 

She  turns  her  head  and  looks  him  up  and  down, 
reducing  him  to  the  Umpness  of  a  rag.  But  for  all  his 
inward  abasement,  he  manages  to  sustain  an  outward 
smile. 

"  Lovely  day !  "  he  says  again,  thinking  to  himself  : 
Never  mind.     At  any  rate,  she's  stopped. 

"  I  noticed,"  he  goes  on,  "  that  Fruen  was  looking 
at  my  windows.  I  fancied,  indeed,  with  some  shght 
interest.  As  a  business  man,  you  know — practised  eye 
— spot  that  sort  of  thing  at  once.  Now,  if  Fruen  would 
like  to  have  a  look  round  the  stock  ?  Fve  heaps  of  things 
besides  those  in  the  window.  Heaps.  The  brown  one 
there,  now,  next  to  the  one  you  were  looking  at — I  would 
let  that  go  for  42.82." 

"  No,  thanks.     I  don't  think  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  pressing — wouldn't  think  of  it.  Only 
too  deUghted  to  have  people  look  at  my  things.  People 
of  taste,  that  is.  People  who  know  what's  chic.  And 
there  aren't  many  of  that  sort  in  Knarreby,  hehe  !  " 

Fruen  hesitated  ;  she  felt  to-day  she  could  not  bear 
to  hurt  the  meanest  worm.  And  Lund's  eager  little 
business  eye  discerned  it  ;  he  needed  only  to  step  aside 
and  say,  "  Veers' god,  veers' god  !  "  ^  And  with  a  sigh  Fni 
van  Haag  entered  in. 

"  I  ought  to  mention,  we've  just  got  the  new  season's 
things  in.  Some  first-rate  things  in  full-length  coats, 
for  instance.  All  prices.  That  one  there  on  the 
left,  now ;  only  45.  The  one  you  were  looking  at, 
of  course,   is   the    finest — the   acme  of  taste,  chic  and 

^  Vcersaagod :  answers  approximately  to  "Allow  me"  or  "  Please 
to  .  .  •"     Used  also  when  offering  or  handing  anything. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     91 

fashionable— the  sort   of  thing  they  wear   in   Copen- 
hagen." 

Lund  made  a  leap  and  snatched  the  chic  and  fashion- 
able thing  through  the  window,  thrusting  it  then  with 
eagerness  towards  his  patron  in  spe. 

"Well,  no,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  really  care 
about  it." 

Lund  was  shocked.  His  face  turned  suddenly 
serious,  and  he  stepped  back  a  pace  as  if  to  see  what 
possible  objection  anyone  could  have  to  that.  Surely 
nothing  had  been  spared  to  make  it  as  chic  and  fashion- 
able and  acme-of-tasteful  as  could  be  ?  The  very 
architecture  of  the  thing  was  turned  and  twisted  accord- 
ing to  the  demands  of  the  leading  fashion  journals,  and 
as  for  the  trimming — it  bordered  on  extravagance. 
Collar  and  pockets  and  sleeves  were  set  with  buttons 
in  rows  as  close  as  on  the  cards  in  his  drawer  ;  here  and 
there  were  tassels  danghng.  No,  really,  it  was  unreason- 
able— but  there  was  no  end  to  what  some  people  ex- 
pected for  their  Kr.  52.97.  Lund  cast  a  lover's  glance 
at  the  Httle  triangular  sUp  of  magenta-coloured  silk  at 
the  points  of  the  collar  on  either  side.  Hadn't  she 
noticed  those  ?  And  then  the  ornamental  work — in 
gold  and  silver  and  peacock — surely  .  .  . 

"  The  postmaster's  lady  herself  was  looking  at  that 
very  one,  and  said  it  was  charming,"  said  Lund,  watch- 
ing to  see  what  effect  this  announcement  would  make. 
What  ?     None  at  all  ?     Very  strange.  ...  He  went  on  : 
"  And  very  reasonable,  too,  she  thought." 
"  Yes,  yes,  very  reasonable,  no  doubt." 
"  But  perhaps  it's  the  shape  you  don't  care  for  ?  " 
"  The  shape — yes — no,  I  don't  care  much  for  that 
shape.     But  I  think  you  said  you  had  some  others  ? 
One  can't  like  everything,  you  know." 


92     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Let  me  get  the  two  others  from  the  window.  ..." 

"  No,  thank  you,  really.     I  saw  them  from  outside." 

Lund  was  inwardly  furious  by  now.  Save  for  those 
three,  his  stock  consisted  only  of  the  same  everlasting 
uniform  ugUness  that  country  people  preferred.  The 
three  on  show  represented  his  selection  for  the  town, 
and  here  was  this  impertinent  minx  from  Heaven-knows- 
where  turning  up  her  nose  at  them  all !  What  did  she 
know  of  chic  fashions  and  taste  ?  He'd  teach  her  a 
lesson  !     And  as  if  to  himself,  he  went  on  : 

"  Oh,  they're  not  wearing  that  sort  of  thing  now 
with  the  straight  front.  Full  bosom,  that's  all  the  rage 
now.  And  short  jackets,  too — they're  done  with  long 
ago.     Half-length  it  is  now." 

Fru  van  Haag's  expression  changed  shghtly.  She 
realised  that  this  Httle  man  had  formed  in  his  mind  a 
correct  picture  of  that  short,  white  jacket  of  hers — and 
now  she  came  to  think  of  it,  she  had  bought  that  jacket 
over  a  year  ago,  in  Brussels. 

Lund  marked  the  look  in  her  eyes,  and,  nodding  to 
himself,  returned  to  the  attack. 

"  No,  never  see  that  sort  of  thing  nowadays.  'Tisn't 
worn  in  Copenhagen — or  anywhere  else.  The  traveller 
told  me  himself — H.  P.  Sorensen,  it  was — I  don't  know 
if  you  know  him  ?  No  ?  Well,  he  told  me.  *  Yes,' 
he  said,  '  I  know  you,  Lund  ;  you  always  want  the  best 
and  smartest  that's  going.'  That's  what  he  said.  He 
always  says  so.  Oh,  he  knows  me,  does  Sorensen. 
And  between  you  and  me,  Fru  Haag — Fru  van  Haag, 
I  mean,  beg  pardon — I  was  thinking  of  you  when  I  picked 
out  that  one  there.  You'll  have  the  smartest  coat  in 
the  place  ;  there's  not  another  Uke  it  in  the  town.  I 
say  50.95,  to  you.  You've  a  charming  figure,  Fru  van 
Haag.     It  would  be  a  credit  to  the  business." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     93 

Womanlike,  Clara  had  long  since  forgotten  how  and 
why  she  had  come  into  the  shop.  Here  she  was,  in  a 
shop,  and  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  buy  something. 

"  But  really,  I  couldn't  take  that  dreadful  thing 
there." 

Lund  was  gentleness  and  subservience  itself  now  ; 
he  felt  he  was  gaining  the  day. 

"  No  consequence  at  all,"  he  said.  "  Don't  mention 
it.  We'll  pick  out  another  from  the  catalogue.  I've 
a  whole  stock  of  coats,  as  I  said,  just  through  at  the  back 
here.  Serensen,  he  knows  where  to  send  his  things. 
But — well,  they're  not  properly  unpacked  yet,  and 
hardly  the  thing  for  you,  anyway.  I  can't  understand 
you  don't  care  about  this  one  here,  though — with  all 
that  lovely  trimming  —  why,  it's  marvellous  value. 
The  trimmings  alone  must  come  to  eight  or  nine  Kroner 
to  begin  with.  The  postmaster's  lady,  she  was  charmed 
with  it,  as  I  said.  Ordered  one  in  the  same  style  on 
the  spot.  .  .  ." 

"  Fru  Weisz  ordered  one  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  expecting  it  by  to-morrow's  boat.  She 
wanted  it  a  couple  of  inches  wider  in  the  body — 
not  having  your  slenderness  about  the  corset,  Fru 
Haag." 

Fru  van  Haag  felt  as  if  she  had  escaped  a  mortal 
peril.  The  thought  of  dressing  twins  with  anyone  made 
her  shiver.  But  when  Lund  brought  out  his  catalogues 
and  began  turning  the  leaves,  she  felt  as  helpless  as  a 
small  bird  under  the  eye  of  a  cobra.  She  stood  there 
staring  confusedly  at  the  plates,  until  at  last,  discovering 
one  that  did  not  positively  hurt,  she  pointed  a  trembUng 
finger  and  said  that  would  do. 

"  Ah,  '  The  Ohvia,'  yes.  OUvia.  I'll  write  for  it 
this  evening — ^it'll  be  here  by  Saturday." 


94     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  But  I  want  it  with  straight  pockets,  please,  and 
straight  fronted." 

"  Altered  as  you  please,"  said  Lund.  He  took  a 
piece  of  paper  and  noted  down  :  "  Olivia.  Straight 
pockets,  no  full  bosom." 

"  That's  the  way,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thanks.  .  .  ." 

The  material  and  buttons  were  then  settled.  Lund 
laid  his  paper  aside — that  was  that  deal  over — and 
said  : 

"  You're  an  acquisition  to  the  town,  Fru  Haag.  Yes, 
indeed,  I  mean  it.  It's  hardly  too  much  to  say  so.  We're 
dehghted  to  have  you  in  our  midst.  We're  always  talk- 
ing about  the  good  you  do  in  secret.  It's  beautiful. 
Now  there's  that  lamplighter,  for  instance,  that  comes 
up  to  your  house  every  day  and  gets  loaded  up  with 
food.  Isn't  that  a  beautiful  thing  to  do  ?  And  then 
that  boy  of  Egholm's,  Sivert,  that  you  paid  a  passage 
for  to  America  out  of  your  own  private  income,  in  spite 
of  your  husband  going  against  it  all  he  could — in  the 
nicest  way,  of  course." 

"  Who — who  on  earth  dares  to  go  thrusting  their 
nose  into  my  affairs  ?  "  said  Fru  van  Haag  angrily. 

"  Thrusting  ?  Well,  you  can't  help  it,  you  know, 
when  it's  thrust  right  under  your  nose  by  every  one 
that  comes  into  the  shop.  Now  there's  the  policeman 
— I  say  to  him,  '  Why  weren't  the  lamps  alight  last 
night  ? — Because  Mikkelsen  was  drunk. — And  why 
was  Mikkelsen  drunk  ? — Because  Fru  Haag's  promised 
him  free  gratis  dinner  every  day  for  him  and  his  wife 
and  nine  children  ! '  And  then  about  Sivert.  How  can 
people  help  knowing,  when  you  go  round  to  Egholm's 
yourself  two  and  three  times  in  a  single  week  ?  First 
time — and  the  second,  perhaps — we  thought  you  were 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     95 

just  going  to  be  photographed  Uke  anybody  else.  But 
then  Fru  Hermansen  comes  along  and  tells  how  you 
and  Egholm  were  children  together — in  the  nicest  way, 
of  course.  And  I  said  it  was  all  to  Fru  Haag's  credit  : 
those  were  my  words.  And  that's  why  I  said  to  S0rensen, 
send  me  that  one  with  the  tassels  among  the  window 
selection  ;  that'll  be  for  Fru  Haag.  Sorensen  and  I, 
we're  friends  ;  we  know  each  other.  When  he  started, 
I  was  head  assistant.  And  now  he's  making  his  twelve 
thousand  Kroner  a  year.     Ah,  well  .  .  .  !  " 

Lund  sighed  at  the  distance  between  his  own  poor 
existence  and  that  of  H.  P.  Sorensen,  travelHng  at  twelve 
thousand  a  year.  That  sigh  proved  his  salvation.  Fru 
Clara's  eyes  flashed  lightnings  ;  in  a  moment  she  would 
stamp  this  miserable  little  area  sneak  under  her  heel 
and  go.  Then  all  at  once  she  saw  the  sordid  poverty  of 
the  man.  It  was  the  pride  of  his  Hfe  to  be  able  to  claim 
friendship  with  a  commercial  traveller.  It  was  food  and 
drink  to  him  to  glean  some  scraps  of  gossip  about  other 
people's  Hves.  It  was  a  red-letter  day  when  he  sold  a 
cheap  httle  jacket.  No  doubt  he  had  a  struggle  to  make 
ends  meet.  She  had  been  in  the  shop  now  for  nearly 
half  an  hour,  and  not  another  customer  had  entered  in 
the  time.  He  had  not  even  a  shop  assistant  .  .  .  poor 
little  man  ! 

She  let  him  go  on,  and  he  went  on,  all  unsuspecting, 
gossiping  happily,  his  eyes  glittering  behind  his  glasses 
as  he  talked.  He  enjoyed  his  own  eloquence,  and 
believed  he  had  found  an  admiring  hearer.  Oh,  he 
knew  that  women  one  and  all  loved  flattery. 

"  Sivert,  of  course,  I  know.  Known  him  for  years. 
I  was  to  have  had  him  in  here  to  learn  the  business  at 
one  time.  Only,  he  hadn't  the  education.  But  that,  of 
course,  doesn't  matter  in  America.     Dollars — that's  all 


96     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

they  care  about  there.  At  3.75  in  Danish  money.  Now 
Egholm's  youngest — what's  his  name  ? — Emanuel,  he'll 
get  all  the  education  he  wants,  now  you've  put  him  to 
school  at  your  own  expense.     Hehe  !  " 

"  Really,  Hr.  Lund,  you  seem  to  know  everything. 
I  suppose  you  can  hear  the  grass  grow,  now,  can't  you  ?  " 

But  Lund  laughed  triumphantly.  "  I  hear  a  good 
deal,  of  course.  As  for  hearing  the  grass  grow,  that's 
more  than  anybody  can,  seeing  it  makes  no  noise.  But, 
you  see,  when  Fru  Egholm- comes  in  to  buy  a  jacket 
with  brass  buttons  for  the  boy,  why,  naturally  I  say  to 
myself  :  now  what  does  he  want  a  jacket  with  brass 
buttons  for  ?  And  then,  why,  as  a  man  of  business, 
you  know,  the  rest's  easy.  I  let  that  jacket  go  for 
8.90.  On  credit — but  what  does  that  matter  ?  I  don't 
look  down  on  a  man  because  he  runs  into  debt  ;  it's  the 
people  that  never  buy  anything,  they're  the  worst. 
And,  anyhow,  he's  always  got  the  boat,  if  it  came  to 
that." 

"  Eight  Kroner  ninety,  you  said  ?  "  Fruen  took  out 
her  little  flat  grey  purse.  "  Write  it  off  as  paid,  will 
you  ?  " 

"  Now,  isn't  that  noble  ?  "  said  Lund,  fluttering 
eagerly  through  the  leaves  of  his  cash-book.  "  But  I 
will  say,  Egholms  are  worth  it.  First-rate  people.  I 
don't  mind  saying  I  took  an  interest  in  the  family  myself 
at  one  time." 

"  You  ?  "  said  Fru  van  Haag.  She  had  been  on 
the  point  of  leaving,  but  now  she  stopped  once  more. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lund,  nodding  with  a  satisfied  air.  "  It 
was  the  time  when  he  went  about  inventing  that  steam- 
boat thing  of  his.  I  warned  him.  You  leave  it  alone, 
I  said.  And  I  suppose  I  was  the  only  one  tliat  said  as 
much.     That's  what  you  call  foresight.     And.  then,  sure 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    97 

enough,  the  whole  thing  was  burned  up  to  nothing — 
pst  !     And  it  vanished.     Hehe  !  " 

"  It  was  dreadfully  hard  for  him,  poor  man." 

"  Noble  and  generous  again  !  I  felt  the  same  myself 
at  the  time,  I  remember.  Yes,  I  think  I  can  fairly  say 
I've  done  a  good  deal  for  the  Egholms.  When  he  built 
that  abominable  rabbit-hutch  of  his,  people  said  it 
was  a  disgrace  to  the  town,  and  ought  to  be  forbidden. 
I  simply  said  let  him  !  It  won't  be  a  disgrace  after  all, 
but  a  sight  for  tourists.  Tourists  they  Hke  that  sort 
of  odd  thing.  And  we've  three  great  attractions  for 
tourists  here.  There's  the  situation,  to  begin  with.  And 
then  the  church  and  then  the  hutch — that's  what  they  call 
Egholm's  place  now.  Did  you  know  we  were  going  to 
have  tourists  here,  Fru  Haag  ?  Yes,  next  summer. 
There's  a  Httle  cUque  of  us  have  joined  in,  to  take  over 
Vang's  hotel  and  let  it  out  to  summer  boarders.  It  was 
my  idea.  I  discovered  the  situation.  I've  heard  people 
say  Knarreby  was  prettier  than  Copenhagen  and  Skagen 
together.  More  situation  about  it,  that's  all.  What 
do  you  think  of  it,  Fru  Haag  ?  " 

Fru  van  Haag  said  she  knew  nothing  about  tourists, 
and  did  not  care.  She  was  moving  again  to  the  door, 
when  Lund  stopped  her  by  the  simple  process  of  getting 
in  her  way,  and  rapped  out  at  a  furious  rate  : 

"  I  think  we  shall  get  them  all  right.  You  see, 
they'll  come.  And  they'll  be  all  dressed  up,  you  can  be 
sure,  and  make  our  own  people  here  look  to  their  things 
a  bit.  Who  is  there  in  the  whole  of  the  town  now  that 
troubles  about  their  dress  ?  Not  a  soul,  except  the 
postmaster's  lady.  Ah,  Fru  Weisz,  she's  a  lady  that 
knows  how  to  dress  !  You  ought  to  see  her  in  the  winter, 
with  her  furs  on — loaded  up  with  them,  ready  to  sink 
under  the  weight  of  them.  And  that's  the  truth.  Now, 
7 


98    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

how  are  you  off  for  furs,  Fru  Haag  ?  I'm  sure  it  would 
be  a  shame  for  a  lady  in  your  position  to  be  outshone  by 
a  postmaster's  wife." 

"  I've  nothing  much  in  the  way  of  furs,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Ah  !  Well,  now,  I  have,"  said  Lund,  and  fairly 
jumped.  "  Just  let  me  show  you  a  lovely  evening  fox 
I've  got  here — quite  cheap,  too.  Got  it  lying  over  by 
the  merest  chance." 

"  Not  now,  thank  you,"  said  Fru  van  Haag.  She 
was  growing  positively  afraid  of  this  httle  brown  spider. 

"  No,  no,  of  course,  no  hurry.  Not  the  season  for 
furs  just  at  present.  But  summer  blouses,  now  ?  I've 
a  simply  first-rate  selection  ?  If  you'll  wait  just  one 
second  I'll  show  what  I  can  do  in  blouses.  You've  no 
idea  .  .  ." 

"  No,  really,  no,  thank  you.     Don't  trouble  .  .  ." 

"  There !  "  cried  the  httle  man,  tearing  down  a 
cascade  of  cardboard  boxes.  Crepe  de  chine,  7.35. 
Tartan,  half-silk.  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  give 
them  a  lead  this  year.  In  blouses  especially.  Look 
at  this,  now,  for  6.85.  They're  moving  the  railway 
station,  you  know.  The  railway  people  want  to  buy 
up  Egholm's  house  and  the  bit  of  ground  there  for 
the  new  buildings,  but  we  don't  want  it  that  way  at 
all.  No,  we're  going  to  get  the  railway  right  away 
from  that  quarter  of  the  town,  and  the  new  station 
buildings  in  Kongeskoven — have  to  expropriate  that, 
of  course.  That  is  to  say,  Kammerherren  will  have 
to  sell  whether  he  likes  it  or  not.  That's  our  idea. 
What  do  you  think  of  this,  now — pale  mauve,  with 
the  youthful  collar  ?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  like  any  of  them.  What  was  that 
about  the  railway  station  ?  When  were  they  going  to 
move  it  ?  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     99 

"  As  soon  as  the  grant's  approved  by  the  State. 
Next  year,  we  hope.  But  these  blouses,  now — that's 
the  sort  of  thing  for  a  real  lady.  See  them  in  the 
highest  circles.  Even  a  common  servant  girl  '11  have 
two  or  three  of  them  to  change  with." 

"  Thanks,  thanks.  .  .  .  But  you  mean  they  would 
cut  down  half  the  trees  there,  in  Kongeskoven,  to  make 
room  for  a  railway  station  ?     They'd  have  to,  of  course." 

"  Only  a  bit  of  it.  Not  a  tree  beyond  what's  strictly 
necessary.  Wouldn't  do  to  spoil  the  situation,  you 
know.  Ah,  my  mistake.  I  thought  it  was  blouses. 
By  the  way,  now  I've  got  it  down,  is  there  an3^hing  in 
underlinen,  now  ?     This  sort  of  thing  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  think  my  Unen  will  do  very  well 
for  the  present.  I'm  afraid  I  must  go  now.  I  hope  I 
haven't  given  you  too  much  trouble." 

Lund  flung  his  cardboard  boxes  aside  and  stepped 
out  from  behind  the  counter. 

"  Trouble  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Only  too  delighted  ! 
But — now  I  think  of  it — there's  different  sorts  of  under- 
linen,  you  know.  Lace  edging,  for  instance — never 
worn  now.  A  light  frill,  gathered  so.  And  knickers 
slightly  more  open  at  the  knee." 

Fru  van  Haag  was  already  in  the  street.  But  she 
felt  as  if  the  httle  draper's  business  eye  saw  clean 
through  all  she  had  on.  A  shudder  of  disgust  passed 
through  her,  but  she  found  no  words  to  fling  in  his  face. 
Instead,  she  said  apologetically,  with  a  blush  : 

"  Oh,  but  really,  I  have  some  besides  the  lace, 
Hr.  Lund.  It's  only  my  big  trunk  that  went  astray. 
But  they've  found  it  all  right  now,  and  I  shall  have  it 
here  soon." 

Lund  retired  into  his  shop,  pale  with  the  effects  of 
his  excitement.     He  passed  one  hand  through  his  hair, 


100    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

which  had  grown  thin  and  grey  the  last   few  years. 
Gradually,  however,  he  recovered  and,  going  to  the  back 
door,  called  up  the  stairs  : 
"  Minna,  Minna  !  " 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  door  opening  above,  and  a 
shrill  voice  hailed  down  :    "  Yes  ?  " 
"  Did  you  see  her — Fru  Haag  ?  " 
"  Yes.     Did  she  take  it,  after  all  ?  " 
"  No  !     She  wasn't  up  to  it.     No  taste  at  all.     Took 
a  miserable  little  thing  fit  for  a  servant  girl.     So  you  can 
have  the  one  with  the  trimmings  now." 

Minna  advanced  as  far  as  the  stair  rail,  so  that  her  legs 
were  visible  from  below.  Good  heavy  legs  they  were, 
twice  as  bulky  at  least  as  Uttle  Lund's.  Her  feet  were 
encased  in  blue  sHppers  with  swansdown  edging. 

"  Was  it  an  alpaca  she  chose  ?  " 

"  No — white  frotte.  '  Ohvia,'  with  rounded  buttons, 
straight  pockets,  and  belted  at  the  back.  She  wouldn't 
have  the  full  bosom  at  any  price." 

"  And  what  about  Egholm's  account.  Did  you  ask 
her  ?  " 

"  She  offered  to  pay  it  herself  before  Fd  said  a  word. 
So  there  must  be  something  fishy  there.  Anyhow,  FU 
mark  that  one  in  the  window  '  Sold,'  and  you  can  have 
it  whenever  you  like." 

"  I  want  to  have  a  look  at  that '  Olivia '  first." 

"  Lord,  girl,  don't  be  a  fool !  I  tell  you,  the  thing's 
ages  out  of  fashion  ;  flat  as  a  door  in  front." 

"  You  leave  it  to  me.  You've  no  idea  of  individu- 
ahty.     And  seeing  I  keep  myself,  you've  no  call  to  .  .  ." 

The  shppers  disappeared,  a  door  slammed,  but  a 
little  later  came  the  sound  of  singing  from  above,  testi- 
fying to  Minna's  excellent  health  and  spirits. 

Fru  van  Haag  felt  a  trifle  ashamed  of  herself  as  she 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    101 

walked  home.  She  had  but  a  vague  idea  of  what  the 
thing  would  look  Uke  when  she  got  it.  There  would 
hardly  be  much  left  of  "  Olivia  "  after  the  alterations, 
but  perhaps  it  might  make  up  into  something  hke  the 
little  Brussels  jacket,  which  was  really  what  she  had 
been  thinking  of  when  the  spider  man  began.  Well, 
well  .  .  . 

But  what  was  that  he  had  said  about  the  railway  ? 

Fru  Clara  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  street  and 
nodded  to  herself. 

Yes  .  .  .  that  was  the  way  to  manage  it  ! 

If  the  railway  took  over  Egholm's  Uttle  property, 
it  would  bring  him  in  a  nice  Uttle  sum.  Properly  used, 
it  might  form  the  key  to  his  dearest  wish.   .  .  . 

Fru  Clara  nodded  again  and  went  on  her  way. 

She  might  put  in  a  word  with  the  Minister.  .  .  . 

Passers-by  in  the  street  greeted  her  with  respect. 
But  those  within  doors,  watching  from  behind  windows 
and  curtains,  shook  their  heads  and  said  : 

"  Look  at  her  showing  herself  off  like  that  in  the  open 
street  !  " 


IX 

FRU  VAN  HAAG  again  !  Her  name  was  whispered 
and  cried  about  from  house  to  house.  Yes,  she 
had  discovered  some  old  paintings  on  the  walls 
of  the  church.  It  was  true.  Borrowed  the  key  and 
looked  the  place  over  from  end  to  end.  Clambered  up 
on  a  chair-back  and  .  .  .  well,  there  the  paintings  were, 
hidden  away  under  endless  coatings  of  whitewash.  A 
wonderful  person  was  Fru  van  Haag. 

The  priest  brought  the  matter  to  the  notice  of  the 
proper  authorities,  with  a  suggestion  that  these  relics 
of  ancient  art — naive,  no  doubt,  yet  beautiful  in  their 
way — ought  to  be  worth  restoration. 

The  authorities  thought  not,  seeing  that  the  restora- 
tion would  cost  money. 

But  Fancy-Drapery  Lund,  hearing  of  the  matter, 
runs  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  conceives  an  idea 
that  makes  his  eyes  glitter  :   the  tourists  ! 

Minna  is  ordered  down  to  attend  to  the  shop,  while 
Lund  runs  about  from  one  to  another  of  the  "  clique  " 
and  the  more  important  townsfolk  generally. 

"  The  tourists  !  "  he  whispers.  "  Tourists  like  a 
church  with  a  bit  of  colour.  Plain  white's  out  of  fashion 
now.  Wall-painting's  all  the  rage — you  should  see  the 
pictures  they've  got  at  Viborg,  or  the  Raadhus  at  Copen- 
hagen— that's  not  a  church,  of  course,  but  still,  it's  got 
a  tower.     They  all  go  in  for  coloured  things  nowadays." 

And  the  magic  word,  "  Tourists,"  proved  of  such 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     103 

power  that  it  opened  not  only  the  hearts,  but  the 
purse-strings. 

Nobody  really  believed  in  the  tourist  business,  but 
all  pretended  they  did.  They  formed  societies  and 
syndicates  for  the  exploitation  of  tourists.  They  built 
bathing  establishments,  even  summer  villas,  for  their 
accommodation.  They  suffered  Egholm's  house  to 
remain,  and  brightened  up  their  church  with  costly 
painting-work.  All  with  a  cheerful  smile  on  the  lips 
and  a  deep  distrust  in  their  hearts. 

Who  was  to  do  the  painting  in  the  church  ?  None 
could  be  long  in  doubt  about  that  :  who  but  the  man  of 
marvels,  the  painter  Johan  Fors  ? 

Hedvig  saw  in  the  paper  that  his  name  had  been 
mentioned  at  a  meeting  of  the  Town  Council.  She  took 
a  bread-knife,  cut  out  the  paragraph,  and  hid  it  care- 
fully in  her  chest  of  drawers. 

When  the  work  in  the  church  began,  there  came  an 
exciting  time  for  Hedvig.  She  knew  now  that  he  was  to 
be  found  up  there  just  opposite,  behind  the  thick  red 
walls.  She  wished  they  would  turn  transparent  to  her 
eyes.  Several  times  a  day  she  found  occasion  to  pass 
by  the  church,  and  now  and  then  managed  to  catch  a 
gUmpse  of  her  Johan.  She  was  easily  contented  where 
Johan  Fors  was  concerned.  She  came  home  with 
cheeks  flushed  feverishly  the  first  morning  she  had  seen 
him  standing  outside  by  one  of  the  ivy-covered  tombs. 
His  painting-smock  was  spotted  all  over  in  every  hue, 
mostly  about  the  pockets,  and  least  between  the  shoulder- 
blades,  where,  of  course,  it  was  not  so  easy  to  wipe  one's 
fingers.  There  was  a  belt  to  the  thing,  and  the  ends 
hung  down  on  either  side. 

Later  that  day  Hedvig  had  another  experience,  even 
more  exciting  than  that  of  the  morning. 


104    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

She  was  out  on  errands  again,  and,  on  the  stroke  of 
twelve  precisely,  Johan  stepped  out  from  the  church 
door,  locking  it  after  him,  and  putting  the  big  key  in  his 
pocket.  They  met  just  outside  the  gate.  He  lifted  his 
chin  and  saw  her,  and,  when  she  nodded,  off  came  his 
broad-brimmed  hat  with  a  flourish,  and  a  smile  came 
waving  to  her  from  his  Ups  and  eyes.  It  even  seemed 
as  if  his  hair,  all  gleaming  in  the  sun,  was  smihng  too. 

On  the  following  Sunday  Hedvig  asked  for  leave  to 
go  out.  She  wanted  to  go  to  church.  Fruen  said  yes, 
but  looked  at  her  with  such  an  expression  of  surprise 
that  Hedvig  blushed. 

Hedvig  went  in  early.  She  could  see  there  was  ^ome 
scaffolding  up  on  the  north  wall,  where  a  red  and  green 
frieze  had  been  commenced.  At  first  she  took  up  her 
place  just  under  the  scaffolding,  but  before  long  realised 
that  this  was  the  worst  thing  she  could  do,  and  moved 
accordingly  over  to  a  seat  on  the  opposite  side.  She 
walked  with  her  proudest  air,  fancying  every  soul  in  the 
church  could  see  she  had  chosen  a  spot  from  which  she 
could  study  Johan  Fors'  scaffolding  all  the  time,  and 
anxious  to  impress  them. 

By  the  time  the  first  hymn  had  begun,  she  was  already 
feeling  acute  discomfort  from  keeping  her  neck  screwed 
round.  No,  this  was  ridiculous ;  she  pulled  herself 
together  and  took  a  survey  of  the  congregation.  They 
had  stepped  quietly  past  on  the  cocoanut  matting  along 
the  aisle,  and  clattered  into  their  seats  without  her 
having  noticed  a  single  one.  Right  in  the  front  she  could 
see  Kammerherren,  with  his  bull-dog  face,  and  a  few  stiff 
and  starched  old  ladies  from  Gammelhauge.  Immedi- 
ately behind  was  Hedvig's  own  respected  master.  She 
could  see  the  marks  of  the  moustache-band  on  his  cheek 
and  some  irregularly  dyed  patches  in  his  hair.     Well. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     105 

that,  she  could  safely  say,  was  his  own  fault.  She  at  any 
rate  could  be  sure  there  was  never  crease  nor  speck  on 
his  aothes,  nor  a  dull  spot  on  his  boots.  She  could  not 
see  his  eyes  from  where  she  sat,  but  she  felt  sure  they 
were  staring  Hke  two  empty  gateways,  not  even  looking 
in  any  fixed  direction.  But  his  red  ears  caught  every 
sound  far  or  near. 

In  the  same  pew  sat  Postmaster  Weisz  and  his  little 
over-dressed  wife.  Hedvig  knew  practically  every- 
body in  the  church,  and  those  in  the  front  pew  were 
folk  she  had  been  brought  up  from  a  child  to  look  on 
with  respect.  But  of  late  her  mistress  had  considerably 
shaken  this  traditional  reverence.  And  her  eyes  now 
had  not  always  the  dull  look  of  humble  regard  for  her 
"  betters  "  ;  she  turned  up  her  nose  at  her  master  him- 
self, and  made  a  face  at  Ironfounder  Rothe.  It  was 
this  last  jovial  personage  of  whom  her  mistress  had 
declared  that  the  rolls  of  fat  at  the  back  of  his  neck 
looked  like  a  grin  seen  from  behind.  And  Hedvig  dis- 
covered that  it  was  true. 

There  was  her  friend,  Old  Poulsen,  with  his  chronic 
stoop,  singing  away  in  his  humble  corner,  and  screwing 
at  his  cuffs  the  while. 

After  the  hymn  came  a  prayer.  Then  Hedvig 
heard  voices  that  she  knew,  and,  turning  her  head,  per- 
ceived her  parents  and  Emanuel  whispering  anxiously 
together  and  unable  to  fix  on  a  place.  They  waited 
till  the  prayer  was  over,  and  then  sat  down  at  the  back. 

At  the  last  verse  of  a  hymn  the  priest  appeared  Hke 
a  ghost  in  the  pulpit  and  surveyed  his  flock.  He  was  a 
handsome  man  ;  Hedvig  felt  a  soft,  childhke  feehng  in 
her  breast  as  his  whispering  voice  began.  He  had 
large,  deep  eyes  that  seemed  to  take  in  the  whole  of  the 
congregation  at  once.     But  when  he  paused  for  breath 


106     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

the  first  time,  he  looked  up,  turned  his  glance  to  the 
right,  and  looked  long  at  something  there  ;  Hedvig 
looked  the  same  way,  and  lo,  it  was  Johan's  scaffolding 
he  was  looking  at. 

It  was  an  unforgettable  day  for  Hedvig.  Johan 
and  his  work  rose  to  a  giddy  height  in  her  esteem.  There 
— there  was  Rothe  himself  craning  his  bull-neck  back- 
ward, and  Uttle  Draper  Lund  pohshing  his  glasses  to  get 
every  detail  in.  He  coughed  importantly,  and  nudged 
his  daughter  Minna  ;  it  was  his  doing  that  the  scaffolding 
was  there  at  all ! 

At  last  there  was  hardly  a  worshipper  in  the  church 
but  was  looking  the  wrong  way  up  at  this  new  hanging 
altar.  The  few  exceptions  were  His  Excellency  from 
Gammelhauge,  Toldforvalter  van  Haag,  and  Hedvig's 
father. 

When  the  sermon  was  over  Hedvig  had  to  go.  She 
nodded  to  her  mother  and  Emanuel  as  she  passed,  but  her 
father  did  not  see  her  ;  he  was  sitting  with  folded  hands 
and  an  expression  of  transcendent  bhss  upon  his  face. 

Day  and  night  Hedvig's  thoughts  were  of  Johan. 
She  lived  in  one  long  ecstasy.  His  scaffolding  had  been 
shifted  ;  he  was  working  now  on  one  of  the  high,  small- 
quartered  windows.  From  her  bedroom  and  the  other 
rooms  facing  that  way  she  could  see  his  smock  as  he 
moved.  Now  and  again  she  even  caught  a  ghmpse  of  his 
sunburned  face,  and  his  fair,  viking  hair  bending  for- 
wards towards  the  window,  but  when  this  happened 
she  drew  back,  dazzled.  She  came  no  nearer  to  him 
these  days  ;  only  now  and  again  she  was  rewarded  by  a 
flourishing  wave  of  his  big  hat,  when  she  chanced  to  pass 
by  the  church  at  the  proper  time. 

Then,  one  day  at  the  beginning  of  August,  when  the 
light  nights  had  moved  farther  to  the  north,  her  mistress 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     107 

came  rushing  in  one  evening  to  Hedvig's  bedroom,  and 
gasped  out  : 

"  He's  playing  !  " 

Her  voice  was  as  excited  as  if  she  had  said  the  house 
was  on  fire.  Hedvig  caught  the  infection  in  a  moment  ; 
she  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  though  it  was  months  now 
since  they  had  spoken  of  Johan,  she  simply  asked  : 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  In  the  church — listen  !  " 

They  went  to  the  window,  and  as  soon  as  their  ears 
had  got  the  range,  a  thread  of  melody  span  itself  out 
through  the  darkness,  joining  the  three  together.  Only 
for  a  moment ;  then  the  two  Usteners  could  no  longer 
be  sure  if  it  was  music  they  heard,  or  only  the  rushing 
of  blood  in  their  ears. 

"  Come  !  "  cried  Fruen,  gripping  Hedvig  firmly  by 
the  wrist. 

The  child  was  almost  going  as  she  was,  in  her  night 
attire,  but  came  to  herself  sufficiently  to  break  away  and 
hurry  into  some  clothes. 

"  Wait — oh,  wait  for  me,"  she  entreated,  like  a  child, 
as  Fru  Clara,  impatient,  moved  as  if  to  go. 

As  soon  as  they  were  outside  the  house,  said  Fruen  : 

"  We  must  climb  up  the  slope — the  gravel  makes 
such  a  noise." 

Hedvig  nodded,  and  the  two  started  off  up  the  bank, 
clambering  in  between  elder  bushes  and  stinging  nettles 
till  they  reached  the  church  wall.  Already  they  could 
hear  Johan's  violin  at  work  inside,  but  it  was  not  tiU 
they  reached  the  door  in  the  western  porch  that  they 
could  make  out  any  connected  melody.  Here  they 
could  safely  stand  and  listen  :  Johan  would  hardly  have 
more  than  one  key  to  the  door  at  the  other  end.  Hedvig 
was  trembling  with  excitement.     There  was  something 


108     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

so  deliciously  thrilling  in  standing  here  almost  inside 
the  gloomy  church  by  night,  and  hearing  sounds  issuing 
from  within.  For,  after  all,  who  could  say  that  it  was 
Johan  inside  there,  playing  in  the  dark  ?  Ah  no,  it 
could  not  be  ;  it  must  be  some  ghost  or  other,  haunting 
the  place.  Surely  no  living  hand  could  bring  forth  such 
strange  music  as  this  ?  And  what  living  being  would 
ever  dare  to  go  all  alone  into  the  dark  church  by  night  ? 
The  corpses  in  their  graves  would  rise  and  wreak  a  dread- 
ful vengeance  on  any  such  intruder.  Hedvig  could 
almost  see  the  tombstones  tottering,  and  Shapes  in 
ghostly,  mouldering  grave-clothes  gripping  with  skeleton 
fingers  about  his  throat.  .  .  . 

She  pressed  close  up  to  her  mistress,  and  wished  for 
a  moment  she  were  safely  back  in  bed.  But  then  came 
Fruen's  voice  close  in  her  ear,  reassuringly  clear  and 
firm  : 

"  The  fellow  plays  quite  decently,  I  declare  !  " 

Hedvig  forgot  her  fear  in  a  moment  under  the  in- 
fluence of  her  lady's  calmness  and  strength. 

"  He's  trying  these  runs  over — can  you  hear  ?  It's 
a  curious  sort  of  music,  though.  Like  a  bird  soaring 
up  and  up  towards  the  sun,  then  suddenly  losing  all  its 
strength  and  dropping  to  earth.  There — now  it's  up 
again  I  He's  powerful ;  hark  at  the  rustUng  of  his 
feathers  now  !     Who  were  his  parents,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  His  mother  died  years  and  years  ago.  His  father 
died  only  a  year  or  so  ago,  over  in  Sweden.  He  was  a 
basket-maker,  but  he  used  to  play  a  lot.  He  got  the 
vioUn  from  a  great  musician  somewhere,  and  Johan  nad 
it  when  he  died." 

The  melody  had  changed  now.  Rik-rik-rik.  Trak- 
trakk-erak-erak.     Rik-rik-rik.     Trak-trakkerak. 

"  Listen — dancing    in    wooden    shoes.     Fancy    the 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    109 

cheek  of  the  man,  though — doing  a  barn-dance  in 
church."  Fru  Clara's  voice  was  stern,  but  she  fell  to 
dancing  lightly  as  she  spoke,  so  it  could  hardly  have 
been  seriously  meant. 

"  There — that's  enough  of  that.     Now  the  next  !  " 

It  almost  seemed  as  if  Johan  had  heard.  He  broke 
off,  and  began  tuning  his  vioHn. 

Any  remains  of  fear  that  Hedvig  might  have  cherished 
were  dispelled  by  the  sober  and  commonplace  tones  of 
Johan's  tuning  up.  She  could  not  help  laughing  inwardly 
at  the  idea  of  Johan's  sturdy  figure  standing  there  un- 
moved, as  if  at  his  work  by  day  on  the  scaffolding, 
tuning  his  violin.  Surely  no  other  man  in  the  world 
was  possessed  of  such  diabolical,  cold-blooded  calm. 

And  Hedvig  almost  choked  with  pride  at  having  Fru 
van  Haag,  unquestionably  the  finest  lady  in  the  town, 
standing  out  here  and  listening  enthusiastically  to  her 
Johan's  music. 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  !  "  cried  Fruen,  as  the  disturber 
of  the  peace  commenced  again.  "  That's  Liszt.  Heavens  ! 
Wherever  did  he  learn  that  ?     Lovely  !  " 

Hedvig  never  doubted  but  that  the  musician  in 
there  could  play  anything  you  pleased. 

"  Hey,  stop  !  That's  aU  wrong !  What  are  you 
up  to  now.  Master  Johan  ?  Oh,  the  man's  spilling  a 
horrible  paint-pot  over  the  loveliest  work  of  art !  Fie, 
Johan  Fors  !  " 

Hedvig  felt  shamed  and  insulted  on  Johan's  behalf, 
but  what  could  she  say  ?  She  did  not  know  the  piece 
he  was  playing — to  tell  the  truth,  she  did  not  even  think 
it  nearly  as  good  as  the  rest. 

"  Come  along — I  can't  stand  any  more  of  this.  It's 
supposed  to  be  Liszt,  but  he's  messed  it  all  up  with 
tassels  and  trimmings  like  one  of  Lund's  abominable 


110    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

mantles.     Oh,  he's   stopped — thank  Heaven   for  that ! 
Let's  see  what  he'll  play  next." 

But  Johan  did  not  play  anything  next.  The  next 
thing  they  heard  was  Johan's  footstep,  first  on  wood, 
then  ringing  on  stone  flooring. 

Fruen  caught  Hedvig  by  the  arm.  "  Did  you  hear 
that  ?  Coming  down  the  stairs  ?  Why,  he  must  have 
been  standing  in  the  pulpit  itself.  There  are  no  other 
stairs  in  the  church  !  Haha  !  he's  a  marvel — he's  more 
than  a  marvel — he's  mad — stark,  staring  mad.  Stand- 
ing up  in  the  pulpit  in  the  dead  of  night,  playing  to  the 
ghosts — playing  magnificently,  too — all  except  that 
messy  thing.  There,  hark  at  the  door  creaking — creak- 
ing horribly !  Why  aren't  you  frightened,  you  little 
fool  ?  I've  lost  the  power  to  shiver  and  shake  myself, 
but  .  .  .  There,  he's  gone." 

But  Johan  did  not  go  the  way  they  had  expected. 
He  turned  the  corner,  and  his  steps  came  crunching 
nearer.  Then  on  a  sudden  Fru  Clara  found  she  had  not 
forgotten  after  all  how  to  shiver  and  shake.  She  cowered 
close  to  Hedvig  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  porch,  held 
her  breath,  and  stood  there  trembling.  Hedvig  did  not 
tremble  ;  she  stood  as  if  in  a  lovely  trance,  unable  to 
move,  feeling  only  that  something  must  happen  now. 
But  Johan  walked  past  them  quietly,  without  a  sigh, 
and  a  little  farther  on  he  stopped.  When  they  ventured 
to  look  out,  he  was  standing  motionless  on  the  verge  of 
the  slope,  gazing  towards  the  Toldbod  itself. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  the  full  he  kept  them 
thus  on  the  rack.  It  seemed  hours  ;  their  legs  were  near 
giving  way  under  them  ;  their  eyes  could  no  longer 
pierce  through  the  dark.  At  last  they  fancied  he  must 
have  vanished  into  the  earth.  But  just  as  their  patience 
was  at  breaking-pomt,  Johan  came  out  of  the  night 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     111 

once  more,  and  walked  back  past  them  with  a  steady 
step. 

"  That's  the  best  fun  I've  had  for  ages,"  said  Fruen 
when  they  got  back.  "  And  what  a  mercy  he  didn't 
see  us.     It  would  have  been  all  over  if  he  had." 

"  Yes,  he'd  have  been  furious,"  said  Hedvig,  with  a 
shudder. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  her  mistress  calmly.  "  But  he'd 
have  been  bursting  with  conceit,  and  that  would  have 
been  worse." 

Fru  Clara  said  good-night,  and  went  into  her  own 
room,  where  she  lit  a  lamp  and  sat  down  to  write.  The 
letter  was  to  a  well-known  professor  of  music,  and  part 
of  it  ran  as  follows  : 

"  Since  you'll  have  to  come  this  way  in  any  case,  you 
might  as  well  keep  your  promise  and  pay  me  a  visit.  I'll 
show  you  my  home  here,  and  my  husband.  In  addition 
to  which  attractions,  there  is  a  sort  of  musical  mons- 
trosity in  the  place  here  that  might  interest  you.  This 
remarkable  beast  does  not  show  itself  in  the  daytime, 
but  wanders  about  by  night  in  churchyards  or  in  the 
church  itself,  producing  certain  sounds  which  to  me 
seem  somewhat  original.  I  consider  it  your  duty  to 
investigate  the  affair,  in  the  cause  of  science,  and  ascer- 
tain more  precisely  the  nature  of  the  beast.  ..." 

She  closed  down  the  envelope  and  was  about  to  rise, 
when  she  heard  some  one  striking  a  match  in  the  bed- 
room. The  slight  sound  was  enough  to  change  her 
purpose.  She  sat  down  again  and  passed  one  hand 
wearily  over  her  eyes.  It  was  dreadfully  late.  Never- 
theless, she  took  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper,  and  wrote  again, 
this  time  to  one  Frits,  an  old  friend  of  hers,  it  seemed, 


112    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

and  now  a  Minister,  set  in  authority  over  such  things  as 
railways.  Him  she  entreated  to  do  her  the  favour  of 
extending  the  station  at  Knarreby  as  at  present  situated, 
and  on  no  account  to  shift  it  altogether  to  the  west- 
ward, where  Lund  and  his  party  wished.  She  explained 
that  the  matter  was  one  of  the  utmost  importance  to 
herself.  "  I  can't  have  them  spoiling  all  my  pretty  trees 
out  here.     And  you  won't  let  them,  will  you.  Frits  ?  " 


X 

Now  and  again  there  comes  a  letter  from  Sivert 
in  America.  He  drives  a  milk-cart  in  Chicago, 
and  is  very  happy.  He  earns  unprecedented 
wages,  and  gets  new  things  almost  every  other  day  : 
now  a  pair  of  lined  gloves,  now  a  pair  of  boots  (made  all 
in  one  piece),  and  last,  not  least,  a  new  name — to  wit, 
Jimmy.  Surnames  aren't  used  in  America,  he  explains. 
And  so  delighted  is  he  with  his  new  name  that  he  scrawls 
it  out  ten  times  the  usual  size,  decorating  the  letters  with 
leaves  and  flowers.  Emanuel  has  strict  instructions  to 
report  to  Fru  van  Haag  whenever  one  of  these  epistles 
arrives.  Fruen  begins  to  laugh  and  feel  merry  at  the 
mere  mention  of  Sivert.  As  a  rule,  she  puts  on  her 
things  and  goes  down  to  hear  the  letter  read.  Egholm 
is  no  more  than  mortal ;  he  takes  his  chance  when  he 
sees  it.  And,  having  discovered  Fru  van  Haag's 
interest  in  letters  from  Sivert,  he  endeavours  to 
transfer  something  of  that  interest  to  himself — by 
reading  them  aloud.  No  one  else  is  ever  suffered 
to  read  them  to  her.  And  Fruen  sits  the  while 
with  a  little  plate  of  Syltetoj,  Anna  ready  to  jump 
up  at  any  moment,  and  Emanuel  attentively  stud3dng 
the  expression  of  Fru  Clara's  face  over  the  edge  of 
his  book. 

Egholm  makes  a  great  fuss  before  he  begins.     This 
in  order  to  concentrate  their  attention. 

"  Now,  what  on  earth  have  you  done  with  the  letter  ? 
8 


114     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

I  told  you  to  leave  it  here  on  my  table.  Ah,  here  it  is 
in  my  pocket  all  the  time. 

"  Now  be  quiet.  Put  these  scraps  in  order  and  give 
me  them  as  they  come — No.  i,  No.  2,  and  so  on.  I  had 
to  number  them  myself — he  never  troubles,  the  rascal. 
Ready  ?  Then  I'll  begin.  First  of  all,  he  starts  off  with 
Chicago,  111.,  26/8,  and  next  to  that  he  draws  a  palm 
with  a  monkey  cUmbing  up.  The  sun  sitting  shining 
up  above  like  a  glowing  cogwheel.  The  monkey,  I 
suppose,  is  meant  to  be  himself.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  going  to  be  funny,  Fru  van  Haag  and 
I'll  go,"  says  Fru  Egholm  sharply. 

"And  the  graceful  palm,  of  course,  is  his  mother.  ..." 

"  I  don't  care  for  your  flattery  any  more  than  your 
impertinence  !  It  doesn't  mean  much  one  way  or  the 
other." 

"  '  Dearly  beloved  parents,  brothers  and  sisters, 
Dog  Fylla,  friends  and  relations  near  and  far,  as  many 
as  remember  me  in  the  old  country  ! 

"  '  Hearty  thanks  for  the  letter.  But  I  must  ask 
you  always  to  remember  for  the  future  and  write  outside 
with  my  new  name  Jimmy  which  I'm  called  now,  because 
the  old  one  Sivert  isn't  worth  five  cents  over  here. 
Otherwise,  everything  all  right  and  nothing  much  to 
tell  anyway.  I  am  sticking  to  the  Lord.  It  makes 
you  sort  of  pious  being  over  here  in  a  great  big  land 
flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  as  the  Scripture  says. 
The  milk's  my  part — I  start  out  with  it  at  three  in  the 
morning.  Harness  the  horse  myself,  which  is  a  mule, 
and  bit  me  in  the  arm  the  other  day.  But  that  was 
Saturday,  and  next  day  being  Sunday,  and  Thompson 
the  milkman,  being  a  Methody,  was  in  church,  I  pelted 
the  brute  with  corn  cobs,  and  Thompson,  seeing  it  all 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     115 

sweating  and  lashing  out  behind  as  soon  as  anyone 
came  near,  reckoned  it  must  be  the  staggers,  and  gave 
me  another  horse  for  three  days  till  the  beast  had 
forgotten  about  it.' 

"  A  nice  way  to  go  on,  indeed,"  put  in  his  father. 
"  And  here  he's  drawn  a  long-eared  creature  with  its 
tail  up  and  breathing  what  looks  Uke  fire.  That's  his 
poor  beast  of  burden,  I  suppose." 

"  Very  hkely  it's  meant  to  be  you,"  said  his 
wife.  "  You  calHng  your  poor  son  names  when  he's 
set  to  struggle  with  wild  beasts  out  of  the  Natural 
History." 

"  '  Thompson's  a  Scandinavian  like  me.  Both  he 
and  his  wife  think  no  end  of  me  by  reason  of  my  elegant 
manners  and  beautiful  voice.  They  want  me  to  turn 
Methody  too.  But  I  told  them  I  must  learn  a  bit 
about  it  first.  But  Thompson  and  me  we've  agreed  we 
don't  understand  a  word  of  the  sermon,  except  just 
here  and  there,  being  all  in  English.  There's  two  be- 
sides me  driving  carts  for  Thompson,  but  I'm  the  only 
one  they  ever  ask  in  on  Sundays,  seeing  there's  a  chance 
of  me  going  over  to  the  Methody  lot.  Please  write  and 
tell  me,  dearly  beloved  parents,  if  you  think  I  ought. 
Perhaps  he'll  put  my  wages  up  a  dollar  or  two  a  week — 
Mrs.  Thompson  says  he  might.  But  I'm  not  going  to 
be  tempted  by  worldly  wealth  and  goods  in  a  matter 
of  reUgion,  specially  when  the  barber  round  the  block 
says  he'll  give  me  two  dollars  to  sing  for  his  customers 
and  lather  up  from  6  p.m.,  and  let  him  put  a  bill  in  the 
window  :    "  Come  and  hear  the  Swedish  Nightingale." 

"  '  And  now  how  is  my  beloved  of  old,  which  is  Minna 
Lund  ?     If  she'd  come  over  here  and  sing  she'd  be 


116    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

worth  a  thousand  dollars.  Write  and  tell  me  if  she's 
got  married  or  anything. 

"  '  1  live  a  quiet  and  respectable  life  as  before,  and 
don't  go  out  to  places  in  the  evening,  because  of  having 
to  get  up  so  early.  But  the  other  day  I  met  a  man, 
Ferdinand  Madsen,  which  you  can  see  is  a  countryman, 
being  from  Skelskor.  We  got  a  can  of  beer,  and  he 
wanted  me  to  go  off  on  the  tramp  with  him,  out  west. 
But  I  wouldn't  listen  to  him,  for  he's  an  out-and-outer, 
which  is  the  same  as  a  good-for-nothing,  wanting  me 
to  chuck  up  my  job  that's  decently  paid,  and  slope  off 
without  a  word.  Also  he  said  I  could  do  same  as  the 
nigger  was  here  before  me.  That  nigger,  he  pinched 
all  the  cash  in  the  place,  not  to  speak  of  what  he  did  to 
Mrs.  Thompson,  but  they  caught  him  and  strung  him  up 
to  a  lamp-post  after,  and  tickled  him  to  death.  We 
don't  stand  that  sort  of  thing  over  here.  I  helped  tickle 
him,  and,  being  noticed  for  the  smart  way  I  did  it,  they 
let  me  take  over  his  job,  and  hkewise  his  name,  which 
was  Jimmy. 

"  '  But  I  wouldn't  do  a  thing  like  that — I  couldn't. 
Being  too  much  wrought  upon  by  the  teachings  of  Chris- 
tian godliness  that  my  dear  parents  taught  me.  And  I 
told  him  so,  the  out-and-outer.  No,  I'm  going  to  stay 
where  I  am,  and  tend  to  my  work  decent  and  honest, 
and  sing  my  pretty  songs  all  the  time.  It  pays  you 
best  in  the  long  run.  In  a  little  while  you'll  have  me 
beginning  to  send  money  home.  You  can  put  it  in  the 
bank  in  my  name,  and  no  need  to  be  shy  of  telhng  people 
about  it. 

"  '  And  now  I  close  this  letter  with  much  love  to  you 
all,  my  dearest  parents,  and  learned  brother  Emanuel, 
likewise  sister  Hedvig  that's  a  perfect  lady  as  near  as 
can  be,  and  her  Duchess  that  got  me  away  from  the  old 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     117 

country.  And  kind  regards  to  everybody  else  that  I 
can't  bother  to  think  of  their  names  because  it's  getting 
late.  Specially  don't  forget  my  first  and  only  love, 
Minna  Lund,  and  ask  if  she's  up  to  anything  and  every- 
thing as  I  should  like. — Yours  respectfully, 

"  '  Jimmy  Egholm. 

P.S. — If  I  do  go  tramping  with  my  new  friend, 
Ferdinand  Madsen,  I'll  let  you  have  my  new  address. 
We  shall  be  going  round  by  Niagara  Falls  and  such-Hke 
geography  things.  Each  of  us  to  have  at  least  six  layers 
of  newspaper  in  our  breeches  behind.  All  tramps  do 
that.'  " 

There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  a  few  seconds 
when  the  letter  was  ended.  All  looked  anxiously  at 
Fru  van  Haag,  but  she  only  drew  a  deep  breath  and  said  : 

"  Thank  you." 

Egholm  had  certainly  hoped  for  a  signal  for  a 
general  burst  of  laughter.  He  found  to  his  surprise 
that  he  himself  was  unable  to  start  laughing  without  a 
lead,  and  said  disappointedly  : 

"  Aren't  we  going  to  laugh  a  bit  at  Jimmy's  letter  ?  " 

"  It  was  much  too  interesting  to  laugh  at." 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  said  Fru  Egholm. 

"  It  was  written  by  your  son."  Fruen  nodded  to 
Anna. 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  And  yours."     This  was  to  Egholm. 

"  H'm.  ...  I  don't  know.  .   .  ." 

"  Yes,  it  was.  You,  Egholm,  and  vSivert,  are  the 
Lord's  special  pets.  He's  decked  your  brains  with  all 
sorts  of  Christmas-tree  decorations,  whilst  other  people's 
are  just  grey  and  bare.     And  I  say  :   Open  the  door  and 


118    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

let  us  others  have  a  look  at  all  the  wonderful  things. 
Do  some  of  your  tricks,  you  lucky  rascals  that  can  !  " 

But  Egholm  was  by  no  means  wishful  to  be  included 
in  such  a  category. 

"  Well,  I  never  heard  such  a  thing,"  he  said,  with 
something  like  indignation.  "  Are  my  ideas  nothing 
but  Christmas-tree  decorations  ?  My  deep  religious 
feeling — is  that  nothing  but  foolery  ?  My  inventions — 
humbug  ?     My  turbine,  for  instance — was  that  a  joke  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  minute.  You  mustn't  say  humbug.  I 
didn't  say  so.  Humbug  isn't  amusing,  really.  Your 
things  are  always  the  exact  opposite  of  humbug 
■ — they're  honestly  meant.  And  as  for  the  turbine,  I've 
heard  so  much  about  it  that  I  believe  in  it  as  a  good 
invention.  Why  shouldn't  there  be  useful  things  on 
a  Christmas  tree  ?  But  now,  look  here,  Egholm,  and 
answer  me ;  haven't  you  yourself  packed  up  your 
splendid  idea  in  the  most  ridiculous  wrappings,  like  a 
Christmas  cracker  ?  Do  you  think  a  really  earnest  man 
would  sacrifice  a  steam-turbine  to  the  gods  out  of  sheer 
pique,  because  a  crowd  of  cobblers  and  barbers  laughed 
at  it  ?     What  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  rather  to  have  bowed  down  in 
humiUty,"  said  Egholm  hesitatingly.  "  And  tried  to 
improve  the  thing.     Made  the  boiler  bigger,  and  ..." 

"  Did  I  say  anything  about  that  ?  Not  a  word  ? 
I  mean  you  could  perfectly  well  afford  to  make  that 
delightful  sacrificial  feast.  And  it's  really  worth  more 
to  the  woild  to  have  seen  it  than  to  have  got  a  new 
sort  of  turbine." 

"  Do  you  think  so — do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  said 
Egholm. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  You  just  leave  the  world  alone  a  few 
years,  till  the  engineers  and  people  have  found  out  that 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     119 

same  turbine  in  the  ordinary  and  uninteresting  way. 
They  can  do  it.  It'll  all  come  in  time.  But,  again,  a 
few  years  behind  you.  That's  the  way  it  has  to  be  done. 
Oh,  these  engineers — I  know  quite  a  lot  of  them  myself. 
Stuck-up  lot,  and  the  most  dreadful  bores.  But  often, 
of  course,  hard-working,  clever  men.  There's  one 
coming  down  here  one  day  this  week.  You'll  see  him 
all  right,  for  I  fancy  he'll  walk  in  here  and  call  on  you 
himself." 

"  Will  he  talk  about  the  turbine  ?  "  asked  Egholm, 
drawing  himself  up  suddenly. 

"  No,  but  about  something  else  that  may  interest 
you.  Frits  writes  me  that  he  is  sending  over  this 
engineer  to  do  some  surveying  in  connection  with  the 
new  railway  station.  At  the  same  time  he  is  to  ascer- 
tain the  price  of  certain  properties — yours  included — 
which  the  railway  might  want  to  take  over.  Frits 
mentioned  it  quite  casually  in  writing  to  me,  so  of  course 
we  mustn't  say  a  word  of  it  to  anyone  else." 

The  news  touched  Egholm's  nerves  as  if  with  flame. 

"  But — good  heavens  .  .  .  that — that'll  be  a  stroke 
of  business  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  it  might,"  said  Fruen  carelessly. 

"  Of  course  it  must.  The  railway  can  afford  to  pay. 
What  does  the  railway  care  for  a  trifle  of  money  more 
or  less  when  it  wants  to  buy  up  my  ground  ?  It'll  pay 
me  what  it's  cost  me,  and  the  house  here  besides.  Who 
is  this  Frits  that  wrote  and  told  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  Minister  ..." 

"  The  Minister  !  .  .  .  Good  heavens !  .  .  ." 

"  Now,  don't  be  a  snob,  Egholm.  Frits  is  a  friend 
of  mine.  And  Egholm's  my  best  friend.  That's  rather 
more,  isn't  it  ?  But  tell  me,  now,  what  do  you  think 
you  ought  to  get  for  this  pretty  little  house  of  yours  ?  " 


120    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Well  ..."  said  Egholm,  stroking  his  forehead. 
All  sorts  of  calculations  flew  through  his  brain  like  a 
team  of  runaway  horses.  He  tried  desperately  to  grasp 
the  reins.  He  knew,  of  course,  what  he  had  given  for  the 
place,  but,  naturally,  with  an  opportunity  like  this, 
he  ought  to  make  an  enormous  profit  out  of  it.  "A 
thousand  Kroner,  at  least." 

"  A  thousand  Kroner  ?  The  price  of  a  cheap  little 
cottage  piano.  A  thousand  Kroner  for  a  house  with  a 
big  garden  at  the  back  ?     How  do  you  work  that  out  ?  " 

"  I  gave  five  hundred  for  the  ground  ;  I  ought  to  get 
twice  that  at  least." 

"  But  what  about  the  house  ?  " 

"  Well,  that  didn't  cost  much,  really.  I  bought  the 
stuff  from  that  workhouse  place,  and  stuck  most  of  it 
together  myself.  No,  the  house  isn't  worth  much,  but 
the  site  was  so  cheap,  perhaps  I  might  ask  two  thousand 
for  the  lot,  with  the  garden,  trees  and  HHes  and  all.  .  .  . 
That  is,  if  you  think  ..." 

"  But  what  about  the  goodwill  of  the  business  ? 
You've  a  good  connection  here,  that  brings  you  in 
enough  to  keep  yourself,  with  a  boat  of  your  own,  and 
Syltetoj  for  me  when  I  come.  You  mustn't  forget  the 
business." 

"  I — I  should  take  that  with  me,"  said  Egholm,  with 
a  hesitating  laugh.  But  he  went  as  far  as  to  advance 
the  sum  to  two  thousand  five  hundred.  Even  then, 
however,  he  shook  his  head  and  said  again,  "  It's  easy 
enough  to  ask,  but  shall  I  get  it  ?  " 

But  Fru  Haag  had  her  own  ingenious  method  of 
calculation. 

"  We've  got  up  as  far  as  the  price  of  a  decent  grand. 
Add  on  a  thousand  Kroner  and  multiply  by  two,  and 
we'll  be  getting  near  it.     How  much  is  that,  Emanuel  ? 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    121 

Right  :  seven  thousand.  That's  the  sum  you  are  to  ask 
when  the  engineer  comes.  And  if  you  dare  to  deceive 
me  by  asking  a  single  0ye  less,  I'll  write  to  Frits  and  get 
him  to  shift  the  railway  to  another  town  altogether. 
Now,  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  .  .  ." 

"  If  you  give  me  any  of  your  buts,  I'll  put  the  price 
up  again  !  " 

Egholm  swung  round  on  the  opposite  tack.  He  felt 
as  if  he  had  the  money  in  his  hand  already,  and  his  face 
shone.  He  rose  with  a  swing,  and  Fru  van  Haag,  guess- 
ing he  was  about  to  grasp  her  hand  and  start  a  grand 
thanksgiving  scene,  hastened  to  busy  herself  with 
Emanuel's  school-books,  and  run  through  his  Enghsh 
exercise  with  him.  A  httle  after,  Egholm  had  to  go  in 
to  the  studio,  and  Emanuel  went  off  with  a  boy  friend, 
leaving  the  two  women  alone. 

"  And  what  do  you  say.  Little  Mother,  if  this  business 
comes  off  ?  "  said  Fru  van  Haag. 

"  Why,  it's  such  a  wonderful  big  sum  of  money,  I 
can't  realise  it  at  all.     I  never  was  good  at  money." 

"  Neither  was  I.  It  seems  to  me  a  ridiculous  Httle 
sum  for  all  you've  got  here.  But  I  felt  quite  instinctively 
that  our  friend  would  spoil  the  whole  thing  by  asking  too 
httle.  He's  that  sort  of  man,  that  it's  only  the  things 
he  hasn't  got  that  seem  worth  anything  to  him." 

"  There's  one  exception,  I  think." 

"Is  there?     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  You.  It's  a  wonderful  thing,  the  way  he's  taken 
it  all  since  you  came.  I  can't  help  shaking  my  head 
over  it  all  day,  sometimes,  when  I  think  about  it." 

"  What  is  there  to  think  about  ?  "  asked  Clara, 
with  a  smile.     This  was  interesting. 

"  Why,  it's  just  the  most  extraordinary  thing  in  the 


122     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

world,  that's  all.  Egholm's  another  man  since  you 
came.  He's  turned  so  kind  and  good,  it  makes  me  feel 
quite  anxious  sometimes  ;  I  can't  help  fancyiiig  he  must 
be  ill  or  something.  He  can  use  hard  words  now  and 
then,  of  course,  but  nothing  to  what  he  used  to  do. 
And  as  for  striking  me — why,  you'd  think  he'd  forgotten 
how  to  lift  his  hand.  But  he's  not  ill.  Not  a  bit.  He 
takes  his  food  as  a  man  should,  and  sleeps  sound  at  nights. 
I'll  never  beUeve  there's  any  illness  about  that.  He's 
more  like  well  than  ever  he  was.  That's  what  I  think 
of  it.  But  you  mustn't  think  he  hasn't  been  good  and 
kind  at  times  before — hundreds  of  times.  There  was 
that  day,  for  instance,  when  he  took  and  kissed  me  on 
the  station  platform  here  at  Knarreby,  with  I  don't 
know  how  many  people  looking  on.  It  was  the  day 
I  first  came  down  here  with  the  children.  One  of  the 
loveliest  days  in  all  my  Hfe.  And  then  one  night,  just 
when  he  was  getting  finished  with  that  turbine  thing. 
Never  a  soul'd  believe  me  if  I  told  them  how  good  he  was 
to  me  that  night.  And  a  thousand  other  times,  too,  in 
httle  ways.  But  to  speak  of  the  time  when  we  were 
first  engaged — ah  !  .  .  .  Why,  do  you  know  he's  actually 
written  verses  to  me  !  Heaps  of  them  !  But  all  that's 
only  been  just  for  a  bit,  you  understand — an  afternoon, 
an  evening,  or  so.  Now  and  then  perhaps  for  a  day  or 
two  together.  But  I  don't  count  that,  because  it  was 
always  just  before  the  lottery  came  out.  And  that,  of 
course  .  .  .  But  otherwise,  it's  mostly  been  the  hard 
side  of  him  I've  seen  most  of." 

"  You  poor  thing  !  When  was  it  he  began  being 
unkind  to  you  ?     Was  it  right  from  the  first  ?  " 

"  It  was  on  our  wedding  day  ;  we'd  had  our  meal, 
such  as  it  was,  and  the  others  had  gone.  Mother  squeezed 
my  hand  and  looked  so  hard  at  me  outside  in  the  passage. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     123 

And  I  couldn't  help  crjdng  when  she  went,  and  that 
made  him  furious,  of  course.  Well,  I  ought  not  to  have 
cried,  I  suppose,  but  I  simply  couldn't  help  it,  and  then 
he  got  angry.  But,  as  I  said,  he's  been  quite  nice  ever 
so  many  times  since  then.  Dear  Lord,  yes,  I've  no  cause 
to  complain  ;  I  got  the  man  I  wanted,  and  I'm  not 
complaining  either.  You  wouldn't  call  it  so  ?  I'm  only 
just  saying  the  httle  ways  he's  been,  so  you  can  under- 
stand what  it  means  to  me  to  have  him  like  he  is  now. 
It's  wonderful.  Why,  I  can  turn  him  round  my  httle 
finger,  as  they  say,  and  tie  knots  in  him,  if  I  only  hke  to 
try.  I  could  tell  you  one  time  by  way  of  example,  and 
that  from  this  very  morning.  You  know  he's  always 
had  a  fancy  for  collecting  all  sorts  of  rubbish,  and  to-day 
he  comes  home  dragging  a  whole  sack  of  those  paper- 
mashy  figure  things  they  stick  on  coffins — they  don't 
use  them  so  much  nowadays,  but  you  know  the  sort  of 
thing  I  mean  —  angels'  heads  and  that  sort  —  Faith, 
Hope,  and  Charity,  and  burning  torches,  and  clasped 
hands  that's  supposed  to  mean  farewell-for-ever-deeply- 
mourned.  Very  pretty  in  a  sorrowful  way,  and  I  won't 
say  no,  but  still  .  .  .  You  wouldn't  call  it  the  sort  of 
thing  to  stick  up  over  a  house  for  the  Hving.  That's 
what  he  was  going  to  do  with  them.  He  was  that  set 
on  it.  You  know  what  he's  hke  when  he  once  gets  an 
idea  into  his  head.  But  I  was  so  dreading  what'd  come 
of  it  if  he  started  now,  setting  the  neighbours  talking 
again  now  after  they've  quieted  down  and  left  us  in 
peace  for  a  bit,  after  that  turbine  business  and  the  house 
here  itself  that  they  can't  abide,  because  it's  not  quite 
like  the  others.  Ah,  we've  had  a  deal  to  put  up  with 
that  I  won't  go  into  now,  as  when  Egholm  went  out  after 
a  book  in  the  snow,  all  barefooted,  and  they  thought  he 
was  mad.     No,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  children,  and 


124    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Emanuel  especially,  now  he's  at  his  fine  school. — 
'  What's  an  ignoramus  hke  you  know  about  such  things  ? ' 
says  he. — '  I  know  enough  to  know  what  sets  folk  grin- 
ning at  us  all,'  says  L  '  I've  sense  enough  for  that, 
anyway.  I  don't  mind  the  garlands  and  torches  so 
much,  and  maybe  a  cherub  or  so,  or  a  Faith-and-Hope, 
that  might  mean  anything.  But  if  you  start  nailing  up 
an  arch  of  farewell  hands  over  the  door  ' — that's  what 
he  was  going  to  do — '  they'll  be  calHng  the  place  Coffin 
Lodge  at  once.' — '  And  what  do  I  care  if  they  do  ?  ' 
says  he.  '  I  don't  care  that  for  them  !  Nor  for  any- 
body !  '  And  I  thought  to  myself,  Ah,  what  about  how 
he  goes  bowing  and  scraping  as  soon  as  they  come  to  be 
taken. — '  But  you're  all  wrong,'  he  says,  '  anyway,  call- 
ing them  farewell-for-ever  hands  and  deeply  mourned. 
They're  hearty -greeting  hands,  and  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do,  Fru  van  Haag's  coming  round  this  afternoon  !  '  " 

"  Oh,  you  dehghtful  children  !  "  murmured  Fru 
van  Haag. 

"  Well,  of  course,  that  made  a  difference,  and  I 
softened  down  a  bit.  It's  the  thought  that  matters,  and 
it  was  a  right  enough  thought  too — in  his  scatter-brained 
fashion,  that  is.  '  Fruen  '11  be  mad  with  you,'  I  said, 
'  if  you  start  any  of  your  nonsensical  tricks,' — '  Think 
so  ?  '  he  says,  and  drops  his  hammer  there  on  the  stand. 
But  I  softened  down,  as  I  said,  and  let  him  stick  up  just 
one  pair  under  the  creeper,  where  it  didn't  show  so 
much.  There's  no  sense  in  being  hard  on  a  man  more 
than  you  need,  is  there  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Fru  van  Haag  softly,  stroking  the  little 
woman's  cheek. 

On  the  way  home  Fru  van  Haag  had  the  good  fortune 
to  encounter  Johan  Fors  alone,  in  one  of  the  httle  side 
streets,   where  they  could  talk  together.     It   was   an 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    125 

opportunity  she  had  long  wished  for.  She  stopped  in 
front  of  him,  and  said  : 

"  Aren't  you  the  man  that  plays  the  violin  ?  " 

Johan  frowned,  and  looked  her  up  and  down.  But 
the  effort  to  appear  dignified  himself  in  face  of  this 
elegant  creature  with  her  quiet  assurance  of  manner  soon 
proved  too  much  for  him.  He  even  unbent  so  far  as  to 
smile  a  little,  and  answered  : 

"  Only  a  bit.     And  only  to  myself." 

"  There's  a  rhapsody  of  Liszt  that  you  know — with 
a  chromatic  scale  ever  so  long." 

But  Johan  turned  wrathful  at  this,  partly  because 
he  did  not  rightly  understand  what  she  meant. 

"  I've  never  invited  anyone  to  listen  to  me  that  I'm 
aware  of." 

"  Really  ?  You  must  forgive  me,  but  I  can't  shut 
my  ears  at  will,  you  know.  I  was  lying  awake  one 
night — perhaps  you  live  somewhere  near.  I  could 
hear  it  quite  distinctly  through  the  window." 

Johan  did  not  stop  to  wonder  how  she  could  know  it 
was  he  who  had  been  pla^dng.  He  was  reheved  at  the 
suggestion  of  his  living  near,  and  said  : 

"  Well,  there's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  I  suppose, 
if  a  man  does  play  the  viohn.  Only,  I  don't  like  being 
spied  on.  ..." 

"  Of  course  there's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  I 
should  think  not,  indeed.  But,  all  the  same,  the  end  of 
that  rhapsody  as  you  played  it  was  all  wrong." 

But  Fru  van  Haag  was  badly  out  in  her  reckoning 
here. 

"  It  was  false  as  could  be — abominable  !  " 

"  If  it's  the  one  I  think,  then  I  learned  it  of  Fruen 
herself.  Haha  !  I'm  painting  in  the  church,  as  I  dare 
say  you  know,  seeing  it's  in  the  papers  about  it,  and  I 


126    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

heard  you  playing  it,  I  wasn't  spying — not  a  bit  of 
it.  I  was  working  in  the  church,  as  I  said,  and,  coming 
round  behind  one  evening,  your  windows  were  open, 
and  so  .  .  .  But  if  mine's  wrong,  then  yours  is  wrong 
too,  for  I've  never  heard  it  anywhere  else." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  my  playing's  wrong  ?  " 
"  No  more  than  mine,  I  suppose.     The  piece  was  the 
same  both  times — that  is  to  say,  all  except  the  end.     I 
didn't   hke   that   part,    so   I   made   up   another.     I've 
made  up  heaps  of  pieces  myself,  all  through." 
"  And  you  take  hberties  hke  that  with  Liszt  ?  " 
"  It's  all  the  same  to  me  who  it  is,  when  the  piece 
itself 's  a  silly  jumble  with  no  sense  in  it." 

Fru  van  Haag  looked  at  the  man  critically  for  a 
moment.  What  a  dreadfully  rude  fellow  he  was  ! 
But  there  was  something  honest  about  his  well-shaped 
hands,  red  and  soiled  as  they  were.  There  was  a  re- 
markable will  power  in  his  firm  blue  eyes.  No,  she 
would  not  forsake  Hedvig's  love  for  a  breach  of 
etiquette. 

"  I  stopped  you  really  because  I  had  something 
particular  to  say  to  you.  Professor  Hans  Juhl  is  coming 
down  here  shortly.  If  you  care  about  it,  he  could  get 
you  into  the  Conservatoire  in  Copenhagen,  perhaps,  if 
you  would  come  up  and  play  to  him  at  my  house. 
Hans  Juhl — I  don't  know  if  you  know  who  he 
is?" 

"  Yes  ;   I  know  his  name  from  the  papers." 
"  Well  and  good.     If  you  think  you'd  care.  .      .  Of 
course,  I  can't  promise  anything.     But  it  would  be  a 
good    thing    for    you    to    learn    something — don't    you 
think  ?  " 

"  No — I'm  not  keen  on  it.  But  I'd  like  to  have 
a  word  with  the  Professor,  all  the  same." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     127 

"  Oh  ,  .  .  ?     You  think  you  are  perfect,  then,  in 
every  way  ?  " 

Johan  shook  his  head  gently,  and  said  : 

"  Perfect — that's  saying  a  good  deal.  I  don't 
suppose  the  Professor  himself  is  that.  But  I've  got 
my  work  in  the  church  now  that'll  take  me  a  year  at 
least.  And,  besides,  I  know  quite  enough  of  the  part 
that's  my  special  line — making  up  new  pieces  and  alter- 
ing old  ones.  Composing,  they  call  it.  There  was  a 
musician  I  met  at  a  big  cafe  in  Munich — Wunsche,  his 
name  was.  And  he  said,  '  There's  a  hundred  thousand 
can  play  for  one  that  can  compose.'  There's  a  deal  of 
truth  in  that.  But  I'd  Hke  to  have  a  talk  with  the 
Professor,  and  see  if  he'd  write  my  things  down  with 
the  proper  notes,  so  they  could  be  printed  and  sold. 
I've  often  thought  of  that." 

Heavens  !  Was  there  ever  such  stiff-necked  conceit  ? 
What  could  be  done  with  the  man  ? 

"  But  surely  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  learn  to 
write  down  your  music  yourself,  without  having  to  ask 
the  Professor  to  help  you  every  time.  Don't  you 
think  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that'd  be  grand,  to  write  music  straight  off," 
said  Johan  Fors  dreamily.  "  But  I'm  not  going  to 
Copenhagen  to  their  music  school  or  whatever  they  call  it. 
Haven't  time.  And  I  don't  suppose  they  go  in  for  my 
special  line  much  there." 

"  I  dare  say  we  shall  have  to  postpone  that  for  the 
present,"  said  Fruen,  with  admirable  seriousness.  "  But 
I  will  send  you  word  as  soon  as  Hans  Juhl  arrives.  If 
your  things  are  good,  he  will  write  them  out  for  you. 
I'll  answer  for  that . " 

"  Thank  you.  Yes,  the  pieces  are  good  enough. 
If  not,  I'd  have  seen  it  myself.     I  don't  coddle  up  a 


128    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

thing  because  it's  my  own  work.  It's  the  same  with 
painting  pictures.  No  good — then  chuck  it  away  and 
done  with  it." 

"  Oh,  so  you  paint  pictures  too  ?  " 

"Used  to." 

"  Landscapes,  or  flowers,  or  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  All  sorts.  Fishermen.  Vesuvius.  King  Christian 
on  horseback.  But  I've  given  it  up.  Stand  there 
two  and  three  days  for  a  measly  four  or  five  or  six 
Kroner.  ..." 

"  You've  travelled  a  good  deal.  Vesuvius,  you  said  ? 
I've  been  there  too." 

"  No,  I  never  got  farther  than  Rome.  After  that  we 
went  up  northwards,  and  by  steamer  from  Livorno.  But 
everybody  knows  Vesuvius." 

"  So  you  paint  your  pictures  from  post  cards  ? 
Doesn't  matter  in  the  least  if  you've  never  seen  the  thing 
yourself — what  ?  " 

Johan  had  sunk  so  far  in  her  estimation  that  she  no 
longer  found  him  even  amusing.  She  intended  to  offend 
him  if  possible  before  she  went. 

Johan  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  : 

"  No — o,  you  ought  to  see  a  thing,  of  course,  before 
you  can  paint  it.  See  and  Ipok  all  the  time.  Hand 
should  work  by  itself,  then,  till  it's  done.  But  for  those 
auction  sales,  when  you  never  get  beyond  six  Kroner.  .  .  . 
I  did  a  good  picture  once,  though,  of  my  mother.  She 
died  when  I  was  six,  and  I  could  hardly  remember  her, 
really.     I've  got  it  in  my  pocket,  if  you'd  like  .  .  ." 

Johan  set  down  his  paint -pots  and  took  out  a  thick 
pocket-book. 

"  Here  .  .  .  here  it  is."  He  handed  her  a  drawing, 
worn  and  soiled  at  the  edges. 

"  Did  you  really  do  that  ?  "  said  Fru  van  Haag.     Her 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    129 

lips  were  parted,  her  eyes  opened  wide  as  if  to  draw  in  the 
impression.     "  Why,  that's  splendid  !  " 

"  Yes,  it's  good.  There's  not  many  could  do  it  as 
well." 

Fru  van  Haag  frowned,  and  a  sudden  suspicion 
crossed  her  mind.  This  conceited  young  man  was  not 
speaking  the  truth,  perhaps.  The  drawing  was  no  doubt 
simply  a  copy. 

She  glanced  up  from  the  paper  and  looked  searchingly 
at  him.  But  Johan's  face  was  full  of  proof  that  the 
drawing  was  genuine,  for  there  was  an  unmistakable 
Hkeness  between  the  dehcate  face  of  the  woman  and 
himself.  It  was  just  the  face  his  mother  or  his  sister 
must  have  had.  The  drawing  was  done  with  wondrously 
fine  strokes  of  the  pen ;  it  looked  Hke  an  engraving.  The 
Unes  curved  boldly,  bringing  out  a  woman's  head  of 
unusual  beauty. 

Fruen  looked  once  more  from  the  drawing  to  the  face 
of  the  man  before  her.  No,  to  be  honest,  she  could 
not  but  confess  that  Johan  was  a  remarkably  handsome 
young  man.  The  setting  sun  was  full  in  his  face.  Now 
and  again  he  Winked  his  eyes  calmly,  but  without  moving 
a  muscle  beyond.  He  was  deep  in  thought  over  some- 
thing or  other  as  he  stood  there  waiting  for  her  to  return 
the  picture.     What  eyes  he  had  ! 

"  And  had  you  no  picture  to  draw  from  ?  " 

"  No — ^it's  just  as  I  thought  her.  But  I  suppose  it's 
easier  to  think  what  your  mother  was  hke  than  Vesuvius, 
for  instance." 

"  But — you're  really  an  artist  !  "  said  Fruen,  with 
enthusiasm,  and  her  glance  met  his. 

Johan  took  back  his  drawing  calmly,  set  it  carefully 
in  his  pocket-book,  and  returned  the  latter  to  its  place. 
Then  he  took  up  his  paint-pots,  each  on  one  crooked 
9 


130    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

finger,  turned  his  head  sharply  first  to  one  side  then  to 
the  other,  as  if  looking  for  his  answer,  drew  himself 
up  at  last,  and  said  slowly,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
course  : 

"  I  hope  so,  I'm  sure.     But  only  with  the  violin." 


XI 

OLD  POULSEN— grey,  old,  threadbare  Told- 
assistant  Poulsen — has  many  duties  to  perform, 
but  the  first  of  the  day  is  the  hardest,  though 
perhaps  the  one  he  sets  most  store  by,  as  carr3dng  a  certain 
dignity.  He  has  to  wake  his  chief,  and  call  him  to  his 
ofi&cial  duties.  Poulsen  carries  out  his  task  with  care, 
and  with  the  nervous  trepidation  of  a  young  priest 
ofi&ciating  at  his  first  funeral.  At  twenty  minutes  to 
eight  he  lets  himself  into  the  offtce,  hangs  up  his  things, 
and  begins  walking  up  and  down  the  linoleum,  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back  and  his  left  shoulder  thrust  up. 
At  every  turn  he  glances  nervously  towards  the  office 
clock  ;  he  has  an  ineradicable  suspicion  that  it  is  going 
to  stop.  He  compares  it  with  his  watch,  not  once  but 
many  times.  At  five  minutes  to  eight  he  leaves  the 
office — after  looking  at  himself  in  the  glass — and  steps 
noiselessly — save  when  he  stumbles,  which  has  been 
known  to  happen — up  the  stairs  and  into  Hedvig's 
kitchen.  He  does  not  knock,  but  simply  appears,  after 
the  manner  of  a  ghost.  A  grey,  Hfeless  nod  is  the  utmost 
he  gives  by  way  of  greeting.  He  carries  his  watch  in  his 
hand,  and  gazes  at  it  as  at  a  magic  crystal — hence 
his  occasional  stumbhng  on  the  stairs.  Hedvig,  despite 
the  occupation  of  her  mind  by  the  god  of  love,  is  stiU 
visited  at  times  by  the  devils  of  mischief ;  she  lays  all 
manner  of  noisy  implements  and  chattels  just  inside 

the  door,  where  the  poor  old  soul  can  walk  into  them 

131 


132     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

and  die  of  fright  at  the  resulting  clamour.  Brooms  are 
useful,  dustpans  are  excellent,  and  there  is  one  particular 
tray  that  goes  careering  half  across  the  kitchen,  to  subside 
with  a  sort  of  d3dng  moan.  Poulsen  has  never  yet 
accustomed  himself  to  these  little  surprises  ;  he  stands 
there,  stiff  and  shuddering,  till  the  racket  is  over. 

"  You  must  be  mad,"  he  whispers. 

"  Wliy  ?     What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  You — you'll  wake  him  !  " 

"  Me  ?  Why,  it  was  you,  Poulsen.  What  do  you 
want  up  here  ?  " 

"  I've  got  to  go  and  wake  him — you  know  that  well 
enough." 

"  Why,  then,  all  the  better.     Save  you  the  trouble." 

"  Oh,  you  .  .  ."  Poulsen  says  no  more.  What's 
the  use  of  talking  to  a  creature  like  this  ?  Wake  people 
up  that  way — wake  his  respected  chief  with  scuttles 
and  pans  ?  No.  .  .  .  Hedvig's  a  good  soul  at  bottom, 
perhaps,  but  she'll  get  into  trouble  one  of  these  days. 
Lose  her  place  as  sure  as  can  be,  with  her  disrespectful 
ways.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  she  drags  others  into  it 
as  well. 

Poulsen  has  got  as  far  as  the  bedroom  door.  Holding 
his  breath,  he  raps  twice  with  his  knuckles,  and  holds 
his  breath  again. 

"  Yes  !  "  from  within. 

"  Half-past  eight." 

"  Tha-anks." 

Poulsen's  mission  is  over.     He  shuffles  off,  relieved. 

"  You'd  better  give  over  those  tricks  now,  Hedvig. 
It — it's  not  a  bit  funny,  you  know.  Give  over,  Uttle 
Hedvig.  It  isn't  nice  of  you,  you  know,  playing  tricks 
on  an  old  man." 

"  Me  ?     Well,  I  never  did  !     Can't  I  put  a  broom 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     133 

down  where  I  please  ?  The  idea  !  And  in  my  own 
kitchen,  too  !  What'd  you  say  if  I  came  down  interfering 
with  you  and  where  you  put  your  pens  ?  " 

"  Hedvig  .  .  ,  now  don't  go  turning  and  twisting 
things  like  that.     You  know  it's  not  true,  Hedvig." 

"  Well,  really,  you  are  .  .  .  You'll  worry  the  life  out 
of  me.  And  I'm  nervous  enough  as  it  is.  It's  anaemia. 
I  mean  it,  Poulsen ;  I've  got  anaemia,  as  true  as  I  stand 
here.  But  as  for  saying  what  isn't  true  .  .  .  telUng  lies  .  .  . 
Oh,  Poulsen  !  I  only  know  one  person  in  the  world  that 
tells  Hes,  and  that,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  is  .  .  .  you,  Poulsen. 
Yes,  and  I  can  prove  it.  You  said  it  was  half-past  eight, 
and  there's  the  eight-o'clock  whistle  just  going — listen  ! 
There's  the  church  clock  striking  eight.  TeUing  lies, 
Poulsen  !     And  to  the  master  !  " 

Poulsen  looks  round  helplessly.  They  have  discussed 
the  ethics  of  this  question  before. 

"  You  know  well  enough  it's  by  official  orders — from 
Hr.  Toldforvalter  van  Haag  himself.  And  when  he  says 
I'm  to  say  so  .  .  .  Wassermann  didn't,  I  know,  but  ..." 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  make  it  any  better  that  there's  two 
of  you  in  the  plot.     A  lie's  a  he,  you  can't  get  over  that." 

What  could  poor  Old  Poulsen  say  in  reply  ?  A  lie 
was  a  lie — that  was  his  principle  entirely.  But  could 
he  dare  to  say  how  delicious  this  particular  He  was  to 
himself — and  desperately  thrilling  into  the  bargain. 
For  it  really  needed  a  mighty  effort  to  stand  there,  with 
the  watch  in  his  hand  pointing  eight  o'clock  precisely, 
and  call  out  boldly — or  as  boldly  as  he  might — "  Half- 
past  !  "  No,  the  question  was  far  too  compHcated  for 
Old  Poulsen  to  explain  with  any  satisfaction.  It  must 
be  his  master's  affair. 

"  There,  there,  Uttle  Hedvig.  Don't  let's  quarrel  now 
— don't  let's  quarrel  about  it.     I  didn't  mean  anything 


134    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

unkind.  But  do  remember  now  another  time — not  all 
that  noise.  Remember  another  time.  I'm  an  old  man, 
my  dear.  .  .  .  Well,  well !  .  .  ." 

Toldforvalter  van  Haag  reached  out  for  his  watch 
beside  the  bed.  Eight  o'clock.  Good  Old  Poulsen — 
trustworthy  old  soul !  Factory  whistles  and  clanging 
of  church  clocks  now,  as  if  confirming  the  fact  under 
oath.  Hr.  van  Haag  leaned  back  contentedly  among 
his  pillows.  He  had  contrived  for  himself  a  withered 
little  pleasure  by  that  arrangement.  Poulsen  came  up 
and  said  half-past  eight,  and  still  he  could  stay  in  bed 
another  half-hour  without  being  late.  Autocrat.  Even 
time  itself  moved  at  his  command. 

Twenty  minutes  later.  Hr.  van  Haag  is  sitting  up 
now,  with  eyes  wide  open.  He  is  not  in  need  of  sleep — 
he  is  simply  waiting  for  the  half-hour  to  pass.  If  he  got 
up  now,  it  would  be  so  much  wasted.  He  will  not  even 
unfasten  his  moustache-band  before  the  time.  A  thought 
comes  into  his  head,  and  he  looks  round.  There  in  the 
other  bed  Ues  Fru  Clara,  red  and  white  with  sleep,  her 
masses  of  brown  hair  loose  over  the  pillow.  So  rich  it 
looked,  as  if  it  had  grown  thus  in  the  night.  Who  knows 
but  perhaps  Hr.  van  Haag  has  some  thought  of  his  own 
anent  the  loveliness  of  that  hair.  Certainly  there  is  no 
trace  of  any  emotion  to  be  seen  in  his  face,  but  he  keeps 
his  Toldforvalter-glance  in  that  direction,  gazing  with  a 
certain  intensity,  for  a  few  seconds  later  Fru  Clara's 
left  eyehd  glides  languidly  aside,  just  once,  revealing 
something  black  and  white — a  mystery  in  black  and 
white  ...  A  thousand  times  more — a  glance  ! 

The  eyelid  droops  again  over  its  black  and  white. 
Something  like  a  smile  creases  Hr.  van  Haag's  moustache- 
band  for  a  moment  and  shows  in  his  eyes.  But  Fruen 
acts  her  httle  part  as  ever,  making  that  glance  a  lie  with 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     135 

her  admirable  feigning  of  sleep.  Listen  !  She  breathes 
a  sigh — a  sigh  of  uttermost  drowsiness.  Daylight  and 
life  are  unspeakably  indifferent  to  her — see,  she  writhes 
still  closer  down  among  the  pillows.  A  lock  of  hafr 
tickles  her  face  ;  how  sleepily,  unconsciously,  her  hand 
pats  it  aside.  At  last,  in  sullen  helplessness,  she  manages 
to  turn  over  on  the  other  side,  sighs  once  more,  and 
relapses  into  sleep  .  .  .  sleep. 

Hr.  van  Haag  gets  out  of  bed  and  walks  with  his 
unassailably  natural  air  to  the  washstand  and  back 
again.  Then,  having  put  on  his  trousers,  he  makes  a  few 
jerks  this  way  and  that  with  arms  and  legs.  This  is 
health  exercise.  Fruen  sleeps  on,  more  soundly  than 
before ;  he  may  turn  round  suddenly  as  he  pleases,  but 
no  more  glimpses  now  of  a  mystery  in  black  and  white. 
Well,  well  ...  he  starts  talking  to  himself.  If  anyone 
cares  to  listen,  they  may.  Each  word  seems  drawn 
through  his  nose  as  by  a  string. 

"  If  it  keeps  fine  to-day  we  must  have  my  things  out 
to  be  brushed  and  beaten.     They  want  looking  to  badly." 

Not  a  bad  opening  this.  It  takes  a  good  deal  to  lie 
still  and  be  fast  asleep  instead  of  saying,  "  Never  you 
mind  about  the  things.  They  were  thoroughly  brushed 
last  Friday ;  you  know  that  well  enough." 

"  And  she  can  call  me  when  she's  done  them.  Her 
fingers  are  all  thumbs,  that  girl.  I'll  have  to  put  them  in 
the  press  myself.  The  way  they  were  creased  last  time 
was  disgraceful.  And  the  grey  pair  with  the  fine  check 
she'd  better  leave  out,  while  I  think  of  it.  Weiszs  will 
very  Ukely  be  round  this  afternoon  to  tea." 

Another  excellent  shot.  Had  Hr.  van  Haag's  eyes 
been  a  Uttle  sharper,  he  might  have  discerned  a  slight 
change  of  colour  in  the  cheeks  of  his  sleep-encastled 
spouse.     It  was  a  searching  test  indeed,  to  refrain  from 


136     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

waking  up  and  giving  vent  to  indignation  and  disgust 
in  suitable  retort.  Such  as,  for  instance,  "  Oh,  very 
well,  then  !  If  you  must  have  those  two  imbeciles  to  tea 
again,  you  can  entertain  them  by  yourself  !  I  shall  be 
out  this  afternoon.  At  my  friend  Egholm's,  if  you  want 
to^know  !  " 

But  Fru  Clara  thrust  aside  temptation.  Her  husband 
put  on  his  necktie,  and  continued  : 

"  There  aren't  many  people  of  standing  in  the  place  ; 
we  must  make  the  most  of  those  there  are.  Weiszs  are 
going  to  the  Tyrol  in  the  spring  ;  we  might  go  with  them 
part  of  the  way." 

More  inward  struggle  for  Fru  Clara.  But  by  now  it 
was  close  on  ten  minutes  to  nine,  when  her  lord  and 
master  took  his  morning  cup  of  tea.  He  knew  it,  and 
made  the  most  of  the  time  remaining. 

"  Yes,  I'll  have  the  hght  grey,  if  you  please,  my  dear. 
If  I  can  get  through  with  these  accounts  in  time,  I'll 
come  up  this  afternoon,  but  I  can't  be  sure.  It  doesn't 
matter  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  but  I  was  thinking  you 
must  need  a  little  recreation  after  your  lamplighters  and 
photographers,  and  Heaven  knows  who  else  it  is  you're 
always  fussing  about.  Yes,  the  grey  pair  with  the  hght 
check." 

Still  no  awakening.  Hr.  van  Haag  creaked  once 
across  the  room  and  back,  gathering  force  for  a  new 
attack. 

"  The  photographer  man  at  any  rate  you  will  have  to 
give  up.  /  won't  have  it  I  You  simply  can't  go  visiting 
at  your  servant's  house.  I  declare  you  smell  of  the 
place  every  time  you've  been  there.  I've  noticed  it. 
Moreover,  I  understand  he  was  formerly  in  the  State 
service — something  on  the  railway.  And  as  an  official 
in  the  service  of  the  State  myself,  I  cannot^  and  as  your 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     137 

husband,  I  will  not  have  you  mixing  famiharly — in- 
volving me — with  this — this — rag-and-hone  merchant  \  " 

That  did  it.  In  a  moment  she  was  sitting  upright  in 
bed,  her  cheeks  flushed  hotly,  her  face  dark  and  devihsh 
under  the  wealth  of  hair.  Her  white,  clenched  hands  were 
raised  quivering  above  her  head,  dangerous  looking,  for 
all  the  softness  of  the  lace  at  her  wrists.  She  drew  one 
breath  to  the  full.  He  had  wrung  a  cry  from  her,  and 
wakened  those  black-and-white  eyes  to  a  look. 

"  Go  !  Get  away  with  you  !  Out  of  my  sight — do 
you  hear  ?  Rag-and-bone  merchant,  you  say — ah,  and 
you're  not  ?  No  ;  with  your  trousers  creased  in  a  line. 
Rag-and-bone  merchant — is  that  the  worst  you  can  find 
to  say  of  a  man  ?  Ah,  but  I  know  something  worse  than 
that!  You  didn't  say:  '  Egholm's  just  like  me.'  That 
would  have  been  an  insult  if  you  like.  Did  you  hear  me  ? 
But  you  mark  my  words,  you  can  stop  your  supercihous 
airs.  I'm  not  going  to  stand  this  sort  of  thing  any 
longer  ;  talking  and  talking  at  me  morning  and  night. 
I'll  go  away  altogether.  Ah,  you  think  you're  safe, 
don't  you  ? — think  you've  cut  me  off,  now  that  I've  put 
aU  my  money  into  a  single  hopeless  speculation.  Yes, 
educating  you.  It  was  for  that  I  took  you  with  me 
everywhere  we  went.  Did  you  think  it  was  for  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  ?  Haha  !  But  I  won't  stay 
here  like  this.  And  there  are  plenty  of  places  I  can 
go  to,  even  if  I  haven't  any  money.  And,  anyhow,  I 
won't  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  you.  You  must  be 
mad,  I  think,  the  way  you  lie  there  talking  to  yourself  in 
the  dark,  and  in  the  morning  while  I'm  asleep.  I  wake 
up,  and  there  you  are  talking  away  in  that  horrible  office 
voice.  And  another  thing  !  I  won't  hear  a  single  word 
against  Egholm.  I  forbid  you  so  much  as  to  think  his 
name.     Or  if  you  do,  then  think  the  truth,  and  that  is 


138     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

that  you've  him  to  thank  for  keeping  me  here  at  all  ! 
Do  you  hear  what  I  say  ?  " 

The  last  question  was  entirely  justified,  for  Hr,  van 
Haag  was  completing  his  toilet  without  so  much  as  a 
quiver  of  the  hand.  At  the  moment  he  was  examining 
closely  in  a  hand-glass  the  tiny  wart  at  one  corner  of  his 
mouth ;  it  appeared  to  interest  him  deeply.  Fruen 
tugged  and  tore  at  her  clothes  ;  her  nightdress  slipped 
from  her  shoulders.  But  when  he  Hfted  his  eyes  and 
looked  at  her,  she  cowered  down,  shivering,  again,  with 
the  coverlet  up  to  her  chin.  And  then  she  found  more 
to  say. 

"  Egholm  and  I  were  just  as  good  as  lovers  once,  you 
may  remember.  And  we  might  be  the  same  again!  Do 
you  hear  ?  Again  and  again.  And  you'd  have  to  put 
up  with  it !  " 

Hr.  van  Haag  had  finished  ;  just  one  thing  more.  .  .  . 
He  opened  the  window  and  drew  his  breath  deeply  three 
times.     Breathing  exercises. 

Fni  Clara  sank  back  helplessly.  No  fire  can  make 
impression  on  a  fog.     Tearfully  she  said  : 

"  And  if  you  go  dragging  any  of  your  horrible  people 
up  here,  it's  your  own  affair.  Fm  ill,  and  shan't  get 
up.  .  .  ." 

She  crept  down  among  the  bedclothes  again  and 
actually  groaned.  But  after  a  few  minutes  she  sits  up 
again  and  shakes  her  head.  Then,  getting  out  of  bed, 
she  stands  for  a  moment  in  thought  ;  goes  over  to  the 
window — not  the  one  he  had  used  ;  that  was  unclean — 
but  to  the  other.  Here  she  can  let  in  good  salt  sea  air — 
strengthening  air.  She  throws  back  her  head  and  is 
lovely  to  see.  Then  she  shps  her  garments  from  her, 
and  is  no  less  lovely  on  that  account.  She  steps  into 
the  bath,  and  presses  clear  cold  water  from  a  big  sponge 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     139 

over  her  body,  lots  and  lots  of  water,  sending  the  blood 
to  her  heart,  making  her  forget  all  ugly  things.  With 
youthful,  natural  dehght  she  falls  to  playing  with  the 
water,  letting  a  stream  trickle  down  between  her  eyes  and 
find  its  way  down  her  as  it  will  in  rivulets  and  cascades. 
Clouds  on  the  mountain-top,  she  thinks  to  herself,  and 
raining  in  the  valley.     And  she  laughs. 

Hr.  van  Haag  is  possibly  thinking  the  same.  He 
has  opened  the  door  and  is  looking  on  interestedly, 
though  he  does  not  laugh.  But  no,  he  can  hardly  be 
thinking  that,  for  his  wanderings  among  mountains  with 
snow-white  peaks  have  left  no  memories  behind  save  of 
sore  feet. 

The  draught  from  the  open  door  makes  her  turn. 

"  Standing  there  spying  !  "  she  says  bitterly. 

"  The  grey  with  the  light  check  ;  don't  forget,"  says 
Hr.  van  Haag  in  his  most  casual  drawl. 

"  Light  check — ah  yes,  I  shan't  forget.  I'll  give  you 
a  receipt  for  the  order — there  !  " 

And  there  is  the  sponge  like  a  big,  heavy  bird,  full  in 
his  face. 

Hr.  van  Haag  closes  the  door  and  goes  out  in  the 
kitchen  to  dry  himself.  A  minute  after,  on  the  stroke 
of  nine,  he  creaks  down  the  stairs  to  his  office. 

So  much  might  happen  in  an  hour  in  the  little  Toldbod 
at  Knarreby.  And  albeit  Toldforvalteren  had  but  a 
little  dry  and  withered  brain,  there  was  only  one  thing 
of  it  all  that  was  outside  his  calculations — to  wit,  the 
sponge,  which  upset  the  elegant  curve  of  his  moustache 
entirely.  All  the  rest  he  had  himself  brought  about  by 
simple  means.  He  could  do  it  all  over  again  to-morrow, 
if  he  liked.  And  he  very  Hkely  would.  It  was  really 
entertaining  to  see  Fru  Clara  acting  her  part.  He  might 
try  again  this  very  afternoon.    What  would  she  say,  now, 


140    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

if  he  were  to  ask  Kobmand  Lund  and  his  daughter  round 
to  tea  as  well  ?  Lund  was  quite  a  respectable  man,  with 
a  certain  position  in  the  place — a  man,  moreover,  who 
knew  how  to  treat  an  of&cial  in  the  State  service  with 
proper  respect.  Yes  .  .  .  yes,  he  would  ask  them. 
And  tell  her  about  it  at  dinner.  A  fine  idea.  Lund,  he 
knew,  was  the  one  man  she  detested  more  than  any 
other. 

Thus  boys  of  a  certain  type  will  sprinkle  a  cat  with 
parafiin  and  set  it  alight,  innocently  desirous  of  observing 
the  effects. 

But  Fru  Clara  received  the  news,  with  curious  in- 
difference. 

The  table  was  faultlessly  laid,  as  usual,  with  a  vase 
of  flowers.  Outside,  the  Belt  lay  blue  and  gleaming  ;  its 
wave-reflections  flickered  on  the  ceiUng  above  them. 
Hr.  van  Haag  sat  at  one  end  of  the  table,  his  wife  at  the 
other.  Fruen  had  secretly  had  an  extra  flap  put  in  the 
table,  increasing  the  distance  between  them.  Almost 
a  stone's-throw  away  they  were  now.  But  near  enough 
still  for  words  to  be  flung  with  dire  effect. 

"  See  there  are  plenty  of  lemons,  will  you  ?  Last 
time  we  ran  out — it  was  very  awkward  indeed." 

No  answer — of  course.  But  neither  was  there  any 
quiver  of  the  hand,  and  this  was  strange. 

"  We  shall  want  five  or  six  lemons,  at  least.  Lund 
and  his  daughter  are  coming  as  well.  Lund  the  draper, 
you  know.  Quite  an  intelligent  fellow — man  of  the 
world." 

Still  nothing  happened.  Hr.  van  Haag  did  not 
venture  to  raise  the  topic  of  Egholm,  fearing  lest  his 
wife's  soup-plate  might  go  the  way  her  sponge  had  gone 
that  morning. 

No,  Fruen  made  no  answer  to  this  or  to  any  of 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     141 

the  little  sharp-edged  remarks  that  followed ;  she  had 
formed  her  resolution,  which  was  to  go  round  to 
Egholm's  and  stay  there  till  late  in  the  evening.  If  it  led 
to  a  scene,  well  and  good,  let  it  !  Her  purpose  gave  her 
strength  ;  so  much  so  that  she  even  felt  able  to  spend 
an  hour  at  her  piano  after  the  meal.  And  her  good 
humour  was  perhaps  augmented  by  the  knowledge  that 
her  playing  would  disturb  Hr.  van  Haag  at  his  afternoon 
nap. 

But  then,  just  as  she  was  going  out,  came  a  message 
that  Weiszs  could  not  come — a  visitor  had  just  arrived 
and  they  could  not  get  away,  said  the  maid,  with  many 
compliments  and  apologies. 

"  Oh,  how  terrible  !  "  cried  Fruen,  in  mock  dismay. 
"  You  really  ought  to  break  such  news  more  gently.  A 
visitor,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  it's  somebody  from  Copenhagen,  just  in 
by  the  train.  Engineer,  I  think  he  is — and  mistress's 
cousin.  And  mistress  was  that  put  out  about  it,  but 
seeing  it  was  her  cousin  ..." 

"An  engineer?  Really!  You  don't  know  his  name  ? 
Was  it  Sveidal,  by  any  chance  ?  " 

"  Yes — Sveidal ;  that  was  the  name  on  his  bag." 

"  Go  back  and  tell  them  to  come  round  and  bring 
their  visitor  with  them — if  he's  not  too  tired.  Say  I 
should  be  dehghted,  and  they  must  come." 

Hedvig,  Hstening,  stared  open-mouthed  as  her 
mistress  ran  to  the  window  and  called  once  more  after 
the  girl  : 

"  Say  I  shall  be  very  disappointed  if  they  don't 
come,  all  three  of  them  !  " 

Fru  Weisz  herself  was  no  less  astonished  when  she 
received  the  message. 

Fru  Weisz  could  never  forget  her  first  visit  at  the 


142    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Haags' — she  had  called  first,  seeing  that  Fru  van  Haag, 
apparently  oblivious  of  what  was  the  proper  thing,  had 
neglected  to  call  upon  her.  Fru  van  Haag  had  suddenly 
clasped  her  hands  to  her  head  and  said,  "  For  Heaven's 
sake  don't  laugh  like  that  ;  it  sounds  like  wailing  over  a 
corpse  !  "  A  moment  after,  she  had  offered  a  thousand 
apologies — she  was  dreadfully  nervous  at  times,  she 
explained.  But  it  was  impossible  to  forgive  a  thing 
like  that  ! 

A  little  after  four  the  guests  arrived.  First  Lund 
and  his  daughter — or,  rather,  Lund's  daughter  and  Lund, 
he  being,  as  it  were,  a  trifle  she  had  chanced  to  bring  along, 
despite  the  fact  that  he  had  evidently  plundered  his  stock 
to  fill  himself  out  and  look  spick  and  span.  His  gloves 
were  bursting  at  the  seams  with  newness,  his  raincoat 
rasped  like  sand-paper  at  every  step,  and  one  of  his 
galoshes  had  a  cardboard  ticket  with  the  price  on  dangling 
from  one  side.  Minna  was  a  tall  and  ample  young  lady 
of  commanding  presence.  Only  when  she  expressed  her 
thanks  for  the  invitation  did  she  show  a  touch  of  some- 
thing approaching  servility  in  her  voice  and  her  watery 
blue  eyes. 

"  Quite  astounded,  I  assure  you,"  quacked  out  Lund. 
"  Thought  it  must  be  a  mistake — qjiack  !  " 

Minna  took  a  step  back,  edging  her  father  in  between 
the  coats  in  the  rack  and  suppressing  him. 

There  was  nothing  particularly  palatial  about  the 
rooms  at  the  Toldbod,  but  the  two  visitors  considered 
them  so,  and  felt  it  their  duty  to  express  their  admiration 
for  every  chair  before  sitting  down. 

"  Look  there,  Minna — that  carpet's  genuine  Smyrna. 
Genuine.  I've  always  held  it  a  mark  of  real  culture  to 
have  genuine  Smyrna  carpets.  We've  got  them  at  home. 
Yes,  I've  always  said  it's  a  matter  of  duty,  when  you're 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    143 

in  the  business,  to  lead  the  way.  It's  not  a  bad  advertise- 
ment, you  know,  when  you  can  say,  '  It's  what  we  use 
ourselves.'  See  what  I  mean  ?  Allow  me,  Frue,  I'U 
just  have  a  look  .  .  .  real  genuine  Smyrna,  yes  .  .  .  no, 
halt  a  minute,  though,  not  quite  .  .  .  no,  that  it's  not. 
But  a  beautiful  piece  of  work,  all  the  same.  Now,  would 
it  be  rude  to  ask  what  you  gave  for  it  ?  Oh  yes, 
there's  Minna  nudging  me  to  be  quiet,  I  know.  But 
all  the  same,  I'd  like  to  know.  I'm  interested  in  these 
things." 

"  The  carpets  ?  I  don't  know,  Hr.  Lund.  I  never 
can  remember  figures." 

"  Ninety  Kroner  ?  " 

"  Ninety  ?     I  don't  know,  really;  can't  remember." 

"  No,  no,  of  course — no  business  of  mine,  really.  But 
I'm  interested  in  these  things.  .  .  .  And  you  need  not  be 
afraid  of  telling  me,  you  know  .  .  .  heh  !  "  And  Hr. 
Lund  endeavours  to  restrain  a  very  confidential  smile. 

Fru  van  Haag  had  turned  herself  upside  down  to-day. 
She  went  round  the  house  with  them,  showing  her  pos- 
sessions untiringly.  She  would  even  have  shown  them 
over  the  bedroom,  only  the  door  was  locked.  Hr.  van 
Haag  was  in  there — had  been  for  over  an  hour — busy 
with  the  perfection  of  his  toilet. 

They  settled  down  for  the  time  being  in  Fru  Clara's 
blue  room.  Minna  flung  wide  her  arms  at  sight  of  the 
piano,  and  exclaimed,  "  Magnificent  ! — charming  ! — 
delightful ! — splendid  !  "  and  any  other  high-sounding 
words  she  could  hit  on.  She  had  a  grand  herself,  but  not 
that  make  ;  no,  not  precisel}^  the  same  .  .  . 

"  My  daughter  teaches  singing,  you  know,"  put  in 
Lund.     "  Six  pupils,  isn't  it,  now  ?  " 

"  Eight,"  corrected  Minna  gently. 

"  Ah,  you're  counting  those  two — that  won't  do  ! 


144     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

I  only  reckon  the  ones  that  pay.  The  apprentice  and  the 
charwoman — no,  you  can't  count  them,  my  dear  !  " 

"  Wlio's  talking  about  money  ?  A  pupil's  a  pupil,  I 
suppose,"  said  Minna,  flushing  right  up  under  her  fair 
hair. 

"  I've  only  one  pupil  myself,"  said  Fru  van  Haag. 
"  She's  learning  the  piano.  And  I  generally  have  to  pay 
her  to  come  to  lessons  at  all  !  " 

"  Ah,  that's  Hedvig  Egholm,"  said  Lund  the  om- 
niscient. "  We've  heard  of  Fruen's  noble  generosity  in 
that  quarter." 

Hr.  van  Haag  came  creaking  in,  newly  creased  and 
beaten  and  brushed,  smoothed  and  dyed  and  generally  irre- 
proachable. At  the  same  time,  the  postmaster  and  his 
wife  appeared,  leading  a  tall  man.  Engineer  Sveidal,  who 
stretched  out  a  big  red  paw  in  all  directions,  and  doubled 
himself  up  in  the  middle  whenever  anyone  grasped  it. 
Lund  walked  round  him  once,  studying  his  knickers  ; 
thought  for  a  moment  of  making  inquiries  on  the  spot 
as  to  price  and  place  of  origin,  but  gave  it  up  ;  after  aU, 
no  demand  for  that  sort  of  goods  in  Knarreby.  Minna 
held  the  red  paw  in  her  own  for  a  moment,  pressing  it 
generously,  promisingly,  with  her  elbow  cocked  up  in 
fashionable  style,  but,  seeing  that  he  did  not  look  up, 
and  only  stood  there  like  an  extinguished  hghthouse, 
she  turned  up  her  nose  and  dropped  his  hand  like  a  dead 
thing.  A  little  after,  the  engineer  had  found  a  seat, 
with  his  knees  high  up,  in  the  lowest  chair  in  the  room. 

Hedvig  handed  round  tea  and  biscuits  and  marmalade. 
The  gentlemen  took  their  tea  with  a  dash  of  rum.  Hr. 
van  Haag  and  his  friend  the  postmaster  were  fraternising 
over  a  little  table.  They  did  not  speak,  but  sat  clearing 
their  throats  alternately  at  long  intervals,  and  scrutinising 
each  other's  clothes.     Postmaster  Weisz  was  hopelessly 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     145 

behind  in  the  race.  Here  was  van  Haag  with  a  waistcoat 
of  entirely  new  and  unfamiliar  cut — certainly  none  of 
the  three  local  tailors  had  any  idea  of  turning  out  a 
waistcoat  that  fashion.  Ugh,  no,  of  course  not  !  Post- 
master Weisz  had  endeavoured  to  compete  in  other  fields. 
He  had  bought  himself  a  bicycle,  and  was  looking  forward 
to  the  sight  of  Hr.  van  Haag  snaihng  ignominiously 
behind  him.  But  what  did  Hr.  van  Haag  do  then  ? 
He  refrained  from  exposing  himself  to  ignominy,  and 
did  not  buy  a  bicycle  at  all !  Now,  what  could  one  do  with 
a  man  like  that  ? 

Lund  had  endeavoured  once  or  twice  to  quack  himself 
edgewise  into  the  conversation,  but  as  the  two  gentlemen 
ignored  him,  he  was  reduced  to  making  himself  pleasant 
to  the  engineer  and  the  ladies. 

"  So  we've  an  engineer  in  our  midst  ?  Well,  now, 
really.  Knarreby's  getting  quite  an  important  place. 
I  made  a  bad  guess  the  first  time  I  saw  you,  just  as  you 
came  by — my  shop's  midway  down  the  street,  as  near 
as  can  be ;  I  don't  know  if  you  noticed  it  ?  Two  rain- 
coats hanging  outside.  That  is  to  say,  there's  only  one 
there  now — hehe  !  No  ?  Well,  never  mind.  I  was 
standing  just  inside  the  window — but  you  didn't  notice 
me,  perhaps  ?  No — you  need  not  say  no ;  I'm  quite 
aware  I  can  be  seen  from  outside  when  I'm  in  the  window 
— hehe  !  But  never  mind  ...  I  saw  you.  And  I 
made  a  bad  guess  the  first  time — thought  you  were  a 
tourist.  Then  afterwards  I  found  out  you  were  an 
engineer,  a  cousin  of  Fru  Weisz's,  and  ...  in  a  word, 
all  the  rest  of  it." 

"  I  suppose   I   am  a  tourist,  in   a   way,"  said  the 
engineer,  lifting  his  head  with  an  effort. 

"  A  tourist  ...  in  a  way  ?  "  repeated  Lund,  with 
careful  precision. 

lO 


146     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 


>> 


"  Ye— es. 

Frk.  Minna  sent  her  father  a  chilling  glance,  where- 
upon he  hastened  to  say  : 

"  Yes — yes,  of  course.  I  understand — yes.  In  a 
way,  of  course.  ..." 

He  pondered  over  it  for  quite  a  while. 

"  Help  yourselves,  do,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Hedvig,  let  us  have  some  more  tea.  Somebody's  been 
praising  your  things,  Hedvig.  Aren't  you  glad  ?  " 
And  Fru  van  Haag  managed  to  pinch  Hedvig's  arm 
as  she  passed,  as  a  sign  of  confidential  relations  between 
them. 

Fru  Weisz  kept  on  with  biscuits  and  marmalade  till 
she  gasped  ;  Minna,  on  the  other  hand,  took  sparingly 
of  everything,  out  of  regard  to  her  figure.  The  only 
thing  she  allowed  herself  without  restraint  was  cigarettes, 
which  were  not  fattening. 

"  And  why  didn't  you  come  earlier,  Hr.  Sveidal, 
when  everything  was  so  much  lovelier  and  nicer  ?  "  said 
Fr0ken  Lund. 

Sveidal  stared  uncomprehendingly  —  Minna  had 
waved  her  hand  as  if  suggesting  that  "  everything  " 
referred  to  herself,  her  heart,  that  had  been  lovelier 
once  upon  a  time. 

But  Lund  was  smarter,  and  put  in  : 

"  My  daughter  means  the  situation — the  situation 
here,  you  know,  is  far  more  impressive  in  the  height  of 


summer." 


"  Situation — you  with  your  situation,"  said  Fru 
Weisz  in  a  moment  of  impatience.  She  had  discovered 
she  could  eat  no  more. 

"  Our  situation's  really  quite  nice — for  a  little  place 
like  this.  Don't  you  think  so,  Hr.  Sveidal  ?  "  said 
Minna. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     147 

"  Well,  I — er — I  haven't  seen  much  of  it  as  yet,  you 
know.     But  if  you  think  so,  Freken,  of  course  ..." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  ?  "  said  Minna  archly,  flinging  her- 
self back  in  her  chair. 

"  Ah,  he's  one  of  the  right  sort,  that  know  how  to 
say  pretty  things  to  the  ladies,"  put  in  Lund  dehghtedly. 

Fru  Weisz  uttered  a  scornful  sort  of  sound,  but  Fru 
van  Haag,  seeing  her  chance,  put  in  a  word. 

"  Come  along,  Hr.  Sveidal,  and  let  me  show  you  the 
view  from  here.  It's  the  finest  in  the  town,  I  will  say 
that,  without  boasting." 

The  engineer  rose  awkwardly,  and  walked  to  the 
window,  but  as  Fru  Weisz,  ever  on  her  guard,  was  pre- 
paring to  follow,  Fru  Clara  said  : 

"  It's  best  really  from  the  back — this  way."  And 
drawing  Hr.  Sveidal  through  into  the  kitchen,  she  closed 
the  door  behind  them. 

"  You  are  going  to  call  on  a  man  here  named 
Egholm  ?  " 

The  engineer  was  astonished,  and  appeared  even 
more  so. 

"  The  Minister  wrote  me  about  it,"  went  on  Fru 
Clara,  fixing  him  with  her  commanding  eyes.  "  Now, 
I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favour.  Come  up  here  and  talk 
to  me  before  you  go  to  Egholm's,  Will  you  ?  Here — 
that's  the  Minister's  letter." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course — since  you're  in  his  confidence. 
But — really,  you  know,  my  business  here  is  a  secret." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Fru  Clara. 

Engineer  Sveidal  felt  like  an  unwilling  participant 
in  some  conspiracy ;  he  looked  confused,  and  could  give 
but  the  vaguest  report  of  any  view  when  he  returned 
to  the  drawing-room. 

Fru  Weisz  signalled  to  her  husband. 


148    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Fni  Clara  smiled  contentedly,  and  said  to  Hedvig  : 

"  It's  going  on  splendidly." 

Then  suddenly,  glancing  out  over  the  harbour,  she 
perceives  the  Uttle  island  steamer  just  putting  in,  and 
passengers  coming  ashore.  There  are  barely  half  a  dozen 
— the  season  is  nearly  over.  One  of  them  is  a  little  stout 
man,  who  trips  down  the  gangway  on  small  feet,  and 
stands  looking  helplessly  about  him,  Fru  Clara  flutters 
down  the  steps  like  a  bird,  and  plants  herself  in  front 
of  him. 

"  Goddag,  Goddag,  Professor  Juhl !  " 

The  httle  gentleman  feels  in  his  breast  pocket,  takes 
out  a  case  which  he  opens  with  a  snap,  and  sets  a  pair  of 
gold-rimmed  glasses  on  his  nose.  This  done,  he  allows 
himself  to  break  into  a  smile,  and  says  : 

"  Well,  my  dear,  here  I  am,  you  see  !  " 

"  Welcome  !  But  where  on  earth  have  you  come 
from  by  that  little  steamer  ?  " 

The  Professor  makes  a  grimace,  and  waves  his  hand 
as  if  indicating  that  he  has  come  from  somewhere  or 
other  quite  immaterial  to  the  business  in  hand. 

"  Did  you  write  ?     I've  had  no  word  from  you." 

"  No.  What  was  there  to  write  about  ?  Have  you 
anything  to  eat  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  dear  Professor." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  What  ?     Oh,  everything.     How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  H'm.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  written,  after  all," 
says  the  Professor  darkly  to  himself. 

"  But  you  can  have  whatever  you  like  for  supper. 
Just  say  what  you'd  fancy." 

"  Can  I  ?  Good.  Then  I'll  have  some  of  the  fish 
out  of  that  water  there.  Fried  eels — that's  what  I'll 
have." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     149 

"  Come  along  with  me  and  you  shall  hear  me  tell 
the  maid  yourself." 

"  Hedvig,"  says  Fru  Clara  as  soon  as  they  are  up- 
stairs, "  here's  a  Professor  who  wants  fried  eels  for 
supper." 

"  Right  !  "  says  Hedvig  smartly. 

The  Professor  sees  the  future  bright  before  him. 
"  Nice  girl,  that.  Charming  girl,"  he  says,  as  he  hangs 
up  his  coat. 

"  But — who's  that  in  there  ?  "  he  goes  on  suddenly, 
starting  at  the  sound  of  voices  within. 

"  Oh,  only  a  few  harmless  creatures — my  husband's 
one." 

"  No  !  "  says  the  Professor,  stamping  his  Uttle  feet 
obstinately  on  the  carpet. 

Fru  Clara  had  herself  thought  of  sparing  her  new 
guest  and  hiding  him  away  till  the  others  had  gone. 
But  now  she  feels  a  devihsh  impulse  to  "  mix  the 
drinks."  Accordingly,  calling  up  her  never-failing 
womanly  power,  she  steps  briskly  ahead,  and  utters  the 
one  word  : 

"  Nonsense  !  " 

The  Professor  gives  way,  but,  before  entering,  he 
steps  back  stealthily  to  the  kitchen  door  and  whispers 
hoarsely  : 

"  Fat  ones  !  " 

"  Of  course,"  says  Hedvig, 

"  Charming  girl  !     Charming  !  " 

A  sigh  of  wondering  admiration  went  through  the 
room  as  Fru  Clara  introduced  the  newcomer  : 

"  Professor  Hans  Juhl.  My  old  teacher  and 
friend." 

All  knew  him  by  name  and  reputation — and  each 
contrived  to   mention  the  fact    on  being  introduced. 


150     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Lund,  however,  must  have  been  distrait  for  the  moment, 
for  he  croaked  teacher  and  friend — dehghtful,  yes.  Had 
it  not  been  for  a  decided  talent  for  business  he  would 
have  studied  Latin  and  Greek  himself.  .  .  . 

"  It  was  music,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  No,  really  ?  And  so  you  are  musical,  too  ?  In 
your  spare  time,  I  suppose  ?  " 

At  this  the  Professor  took  out  his  Uttle  case  and 
clicked  it  open  ;  there  was  silence  in  the  room  while  he 
adjusted  his  glasses  and  looked  about  him,  Minna  was 
fortunately  \vithin  foot's  reach  of  her  father,  and  re- 
strained him  from  further  comment  for  the  present. 

There  was  a  certain  difficulty,  after  this,  in  resuming 
conversation.  The  topic  of  Knarreby  and  its  enviable 
"  situation,"  in  comparison  with  other  less  favoured 
spots,  was  again  taken  up,  and  the  Professor  was  invited 
to  express  his  opinion. 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed.  "  Beautiful.  Quite  remarkably 
so.  Woods  running  down  right  to  the  water's  edge — 
beechwoods.  Don't  find  them  abroad  so  much.  True 
Danish  landscape." 

"  Just  what  I  say,"  put  in  Lund  eagerly.  "  Do  you 
know  what  the  editor  wrote  only  this  spring  :  '  The  woods 
are  our  treasury,  and  should  be  guarded  with  care.'  " 

"  Treasure,"  corrected  Minna. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Treasury,  he  said.  We've  two 
woods  here  " — Lund  thrust  his  hands  into  his  jacket 
pockets — "  and  they're  as  good  as  cash  in  hand." 

Lund  looked  round  in  search  of  approval.  Fru  van 
Haag  gave  him  an  encouraging  nod. 

The  Professor  resumed,  in  a  slightly  altered  tone  : 

"  And  the  water,  salt  and  bracing,  and  so  clear. 
The  steamer  kept  close  in  to  land  just  outside  here,  and 
I  could  see  the  bottom  all  the  way  ;    pure  white  sand 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     151 

with  coppery-blue  starfish  here  and  there.  Wonderful ! 
And  brown  weed  growing  up  Uke  thick  violin  strings, 
but  soft  and  hving.  An  altogether  remarkable  sight — I 
shall  never  forget  it,  I'm  sure.  And  do  you  know  ? — in 
among  the  weeds  were  fish.  Big  fish,  I  assure  you.  I 
had  my  glasses  on,  and  could  see  them.  Eels,  they  were. 
I  saw  two  or  three  of  them,  huge  things,  as  thick  as  my 
wrist." 

Fru  van  Haag  and  the  Professor  exchanged  a  glance 
of  cordial  understanding. 

"  Really  ?  Remarkable  !  Most  interesting  !  "  cooed 
the  hsteners  round.  They  drew  themselves  up  in 
their  chairs  ;  the  eels  and  starfish  seemed  as  it  were 
ennobled  by  this  gracious  notice  on  the  part  of  a  real 
Professor. 

Hr.  van  Haag  cleared  his  throat  and  began  to  speak, 
giving  out  his  words  slowly,  one  by  one  : 

"  Most  remarkable  thing  I've  ever  seen  is  the  fog 
they  have  in  London.  Imagine  yourself  shut  up — what 
shall  I  call  it  ? — rolled  up  in  a  huge  mass  of  cotton-wool — 
damp,  clammy  cotton-wool,  that  chokes  the  breath  out 
of  you  and  bUnds  you.  You  can  hear  footsteps  here 
and  there,  but  never  see  a  soul  You  hear  a  cart  coming 
along,  and  start  to  get  out  of  the  way,  but  can't  see  a 
yard  this  way  or  that,  and  dare  not  move  a  step.  Terrible, 
I  assure  you.  I  walked  with  my  hand  stretched  out  in 
front  of  me,  and  three  times  I  ran  up  against  somebody 
else's  hand — clammy  hands  Hke  a  corpse.  And  never 
saw  a  soul — I  just  happened  to  think  of  it  now.  ..." 

"  Ah,  Toldforvalteren,  he's  been  everywhere  you  can 
think  of,"  said  Httle  Lund,  turning  to  the  Professor. 
"  If  only  some  of  us  could  have  travelled  about  like 
that,  eh  ?  London — weU,  and  why  not  ?  I  know  some- 
thing  about   the   place   myself  :    '  London  Fashion  '  — 


152      THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

that's  what  it  says  inside  the  hats  sometimes — it 
means,  the  same  fashion  that's  fashionable  in 
London." 

Fru  van  Haag  turned  to  her  husband  gently  : 

"  Do  tell  us  some  more  about  your  adventure  in 
London,  in  the  fog  ?  " 

"  Yes,  do,  please,  Hr.  van  Haag — it's  so  exciting  !  " 

"  No,  really — I  can't  remember  all  the  details.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes — don't  you  remember,  you  got  into  a  milliner's 
place  at  last,  and  sat  in  a  back  room  nursing  the  baby 
while  they  went  to  fetch  a  cab  for  you  ?  " 

Unearthly  silence.  Then  Hr.  van  Haag's  voice, 
almost  too  calmly  protesting  : 

"  You  are  making  a  mistake,  my  dear ;  it  was  you, 
not  me." 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course,  now  I  think  of  it.  How  very 
stupid  of  me  !     Dreadful,  I'm  sure." 

And  Fruen's  rich,  deep  voice  choked  in  a  whinnying 
laugh. 

Now,  what  was  she  going  on  hke  this  for,  in  such 
an  affected  fashion  ?  Did  she  imagine  it  was  possible 
to  make  a  skeleton  blush,  or  close  its  dead  eye-sockets  ? 
A  foolish  notion  on  the  part  of  wise  Fru  Clara.  She 
ought  not  to  have  been  surprised  at  her  husband's  thus 
annexing  her  London  fog  by  a  cold-blooded  steal.  He 
had  done  the  same  thing  times  out  of  number  before — 
stolen  her  feehngs  and  imagination,  and  repeated  them 
as  his  own.  Every  word  that  he  had  heard  her  say  at 
the  time,  when  the  experience  was  fresh  in  her  mind. 
And  now  he  kept  the  whole  chamber  of  horrors  in  a  sort 
of  mummified  condition,  and  served  it  up  without  wink- 
ing on  every  possible  occasion.  Horrors  ?  Huh  !  What 
did  he  know  of  horrors  ?  Would  a  skeleton  be  afraid 
of  the  dead  ?     He  had  been  in  London,  of  course,  and 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     153 

seen  a  fog,  but  he  had  certainly  not  paid  any  attention 
to  it  beyond  putting  on  his  galoshes  and  a  mackintosh. 

Said  Postmaster  Weisz :  "  Yes.  ...  My  wife  and 
I  were  only  in  Norway  once,  but  ..." 

"  Oh,  you  with  your  Norway,"  cried  Fru  Weisz 
irritably.  "  Who  do  you  suppose  cares  for  Norway  ? 
Do  you  think  the  Professor  would  count  Norway  for 
traveUing  ?  And  Fm  sick  of  Norway.  And  the  abomin- 
able coffee  you  get  there.  ..." 

"  But  we  may  be  going  with  the  van  Haags  to 
the  South — to  the  Tyrol,  you  know,"  said  her  husband 
mildly. 

"  Only  in  Norway  ?  "  said  the  Professor.  Whereupon 
Minna  Lund  struck  in,  with  intense  feehng  : 

"  /  simply  love  Norway  !  And,  father,  you  know 
you've  promised  we  should  ..." 

"  Promised — promised  ...  a  self-supporting  young 
woman  Hke  you.  ...  My  daughter  has  eight  or  ten 
pupils  of  her  own — singing  lessons,  you  know.  At  one 
Krone  the  lesson." 

"  You  sing,  then,  Froken  Lund  ?  "  put  in  Sveidal. 

"  Yes,  she  does.  Ah,  that  woke  you  up.  Engineer, 
what  ?  Ten  pupils  at  four  Kroner  a  month — that's 
four  hundred  and  eighty  Kroner  a  year.  Yes,  young 
people  nowadays  ..." 

Minna  responded  to  Hr.  Sveidal  with  perfect  correct- 
ness and  not  a  trace  of  excitement  : 

"  I  sing  a  little,  yes." 

"  A  httle  !  "  came  in  protest  from  the  company, 
her  father  included.  He,  of  course,  would  be  in  a  position 
to  know. 

"  Froken  Minna  must  give  us  a  song,"  commanded 
Fru  van  Haag. 

Little  Lund  vetoed  the  motion.     Seeing  there  was  a 


154    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Professor  of  Music  present,  it  would  not  become  his 
daughter  to  thrust  herself  forward.  He  sat  up  stiflBy 
in  his  chair  and  nodded  decisively  round,  his  brown  eyes 
glittering  behind  his  glasses.  No  ;  the  Professor  should 
play  for  them.  Not  a  word  !  Honour  where  honour 
was  due  ! 

Now,  as  it  happened,  Professor  Hans  Juhl  had  been 
sitting  in  a  state  of  dread,  from  the  moment  he  entered  the 
room,  lest  anyone  should  ask  him  to  play.  If  they  did, 
he  would  sternly  refuse,  and  take  himself  off  at  once. 
He — play  for  an  audience  of  four  or  five  silly  people  ? 
Never.  He  couldn't  do  it.  But  all  this  nervous  inward 
struggle  had  sapped  his  strength.  And  as  a  result 
came  the  remarkable  spectacle  of  Professor  Hans 
Juhl,  rising,  on  this  single  invitation,  stroking  his  fore- 
head, and  crossing  over  at  a  sort  of  jog-trot  to  the  piano 
in  the  adjoining  cabinet,  whither  he  had  been  gazing  all 
the  time  as  if  hypnotised. 

He  sat  down,  his  arms  drooping  limply  at  his  sides. 
Then  he  played. 

A  short,  brilliant  piece,  and  his  arms  dropped  Umply 
again.  But  his  audience  of  seven  applauding,  he  came 
to  life  again,  visibly  encouraged,  and  nodded  sideways 
in  the  confidential  manner  he  affected  on  the  concert 
platform.  He  felt,  no  doubt,  as  if  the  seven  were  a  real 
audience — a  crowded  hall.  Now  he  frowned — drawing 
down  his  eyebrows  Uke  a  pair  of  shutters  between  himself 
and  the  world. 

He  played  for  a  long  while  now,  making  no  pauses, 
only  nodded,  rose,  opened  or  lowered  the  cover — and 
played  once  more. 

All  was  quiet  around  him.  There  was  clapping  when 
Hans  Juhl  let  his  arms  drop,  a  sighing,  and  silence,  that 
not  a  single  note  should  be  lost.     Once,  when  he  moved 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     155 

a  piece  of  music  that  lay  near,  Fru  Clara  leaned  over  to 
see  what  it  was,  and  in  doing  so,  forgot  herself  to  the 
unheard-of  extent  of  laying  one  hand  on  her  husband's 
knee  for  support.  Only  for  a  second,  then  she  withdrew 
her  hand  again.  But  Hr.  van  Haag  remained  sitting 
motionless  till  the  music  was  over  and  past.  From  the 
little  spot  in  the  region  of  his  knee-cap  there  went  forth 
an  electric  current  that  sent  thrills  through  his  whole 
body,  even  to  certain  brain-cells.  She  had  touched  his 
knee  !  He  pondered  on  the  fact,  and  sought  to  draw 
from  it  conclusions  of  far-reaching  consequence.  Thus 
music  may  have  power  to  charm  even  a  publican. 

Hans  Juhl  was  all  goodwill  when  he  had  finished. 
He  wiped  his  forehead,  smiled,  and  declared  that  Fr0ken 
Lund  could  not  refuse  them  now.  Not  really — it  was 
a  dreadful  mistake  to  have  to  be  pressed.  And,  with  a 
bow,  he  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  the  instrument. 

"  No  need  to  show  off  like  that,  Minna,"  said  her 
father. 

Minna  sang  a  Httle  song,  and  would  have  retired, 
but  seeing  that  every  one  clapped,  including  the  Pro- 
fessor himself,  she  deUghtedly  bade  them  desist,  and 
began  looking  through  the  pile  of  music. 

"  Oh,  Fm  afraid  there  are  no  songs  there,"  said  Fru 
Clara,  rising. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  saw  some  before — here  !  " 

She  opened  the  book  and  sang.  It  was  Schubert. 
Hr.  Sveidal  stood  up,  with  a  creaking  of  gaiters,  and 
placed  himself  immediately  behind  her. 

"  You  sing,  too,  Hr.  Sveidal  ?  "  she  asked  between 
two  Lieder,  bending  her  head  back  towards  him. 

Hr.  Sveidal  could  not  deny  that  he  sang  a  little — but 
nothing,  really,  compared  to  herself. 

Little  Lund  was  altogether  beside  himself  by  now  ; 


156    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

he  stretched  out  one  foot  and  kicked  the  Professor  on 
the  shin,  pointing  with  head  and  one  thumb  at  the  pair. 

Yes,  really,  it  was  Hr.  Sveidal's  turn  now,  declared 
Minna.     Hr.  Sveidal  really  must. 

"  No,  no — they  were  all  too  high.     But  perhaps  .  .  ." 

Then  it  was  seen  that  Minna  had  eyes  like  fish-hooks  ; 
she  thrust  a  hand  into  the  darkness  of  the  music  cabinet — 
here  were  some  duets.  She  was  sure  Hr.  Sveidal  could 
take  the  lower  part. 

"  Well,  yes,  a  little.  .  .  ." 

Followed  duets,  upon  the  theme  of  Love  and  other 
themes,  until  the  company  sat  with  aching  hands — 
possibly  also  ears.  Lund  ceased  his  demonstrative 
action  of  the  thumb,  and  yawned  slightly.  The  engineer 
had  a  curious  faculty  of  making  all  melodies  seem 
uniform. 

But  the  duettists  thanked  each  other  and  agreed  it 
was  lovely.  "  And  surely  you  know  that  one  ?  Oh, 
but  you  ought  to  learn  it.  Come  round  to-morrow, 
do,"  said  Minna. 

The  party  broke  up,  with  effusively  reiterated  fare- 
wells and  thanksgivings. 

Hr.  Sveidal  helped  Minna  on  with  her  things.  Lund 
stood  watching  them,  and  bhnking  his  eyes,  but  tore 
himself  away.     There  was  one  thing  he  must  ask. 

"  Where's  the  Professor  got  to  ?  "  he  asked,  tramp- 
ing through  with  his  crackling  raincoat  into  the  room 
again. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are.  Here,  I  wanted  to  ask  you.  Do 
you  know  Georg  Brandes  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  What  ?     But  he's  a  professor,  too  !  " 

"  Is  he  ?     Still,  I'm  afraid  .  .  ." 

"  Because  I'm  an  adherent  of  his  !  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     157 

"  Really  ?  "  said  the  Professor,  and  snapped  open 
his  pince-nez  case  for  a  last  glance  at  the  little  man. 

Hedvig  came  in  to  report  that  the  guest-chamber 
was  ready,  whereupon  Fruen  took  the  Professor's  arm 
and  led  him  to  his  room. 

"  Well,  now,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  manage  a  change  of 
clothes,"  pointing  to  his  little  handbag,  "  but  a  clean 
collar.  ..."  He  opened  the  bag  and  fumbled  about 
in  it  for  some  time,  without  success.  "  Well,  there  now  ! 
My  wife  always  puts  out  a  collar  and  a  pair  of  clean  cuffs 
for  me  on  the  bed,  but — in  a  word,  they're  not  here  now. 
Does  this  look  very  bad  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  rather.  But  we'll  see  what  Hedvig  can 
do. — Hedvig,  just  a  minute.  Look  here,  Hedvig,  what 
do  you  mean  by  not  having  a  collar  laid  out  for  the 
Professor  ?  What  a  thoughtless  creature  you  are,  to 
be  sure  !  " 

"  Oh,  how  stupid  of  me !  "  said  Hedvig  penitently. 
"  Fm  dreadfully  sorry." 

"  So  you  ought  to  be  !  " 

And  a  moment  later  came  Hedvig  proffering  a  sheaf 
of  glistening  white  collars. 

"  But    the    cuffs,    woman  !  "     cried    the    Professor, 
starting  threateningly  towards  her.     "  Do  you  expect 
le  to  sit  down  to  fried  eels  in  these  ?  " 

"  I  have  them,"  said  Hedvig,  springing  to  the  door. 
But  next  time,  instead  of  coming  in,  she  handed  in  the 
cuffs  from  outside. 

"  Come  in,  lovely  thing,  and  let  me  thank  you 
properly." 

"  Certainly,  Hr.  Professor.  I've  some  more  things 
here,  if  you  care  about  these  now  ?  " 

And  there  stood  Hedvig  with  Hr.  Toldforvalteren's 
full-dress  uniform  on  its  stand — it  looked  like  the  image 


158     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

of  a  saint  carried  in  procession — or  say  Hr.  van  Haag 
himself  emerging  from  beneath  a  steam-roller,  in  gold- 
embroidered  breeches,  gilt  sword,  and  three-cornered 
hat. 

"  I  like  that  girl,"  said  the  Professor. 

After  supper,  which  turned  out  entirely  to  the  Pro- 
fessor's satisfaction,  Fru  Clara  was  left  alone  with 
him  for  a  moment.  He  looked  at  her  and  asked 
suddenly  : 

"  Was  that  the  musical  monstrosity  I  was  to  meet  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  The  lady  who  sang  such  a  lot." 

"  No,  it  wasn't.     But  what  did  you  think  of  her  ?  " 

"  H'm.  Voice — well,  plenty  of  it.  But  Fm  glad 
she  wasn't  the  one.  To  tell  the  truth,  if  there's  one 
thing  more  than  another  I  do  detest,  it's  affectation." 

"Oh  no  ;  the  monstrosity's  a  painter,  who  hasn't 
learned  a  note." 

"  Bring  him  along,  then,"  said  Hans  Juhl,  rubbing 
his  white  hands  together  with  a  satisfied  air. 

"  No,  I  want  you  to  myself  this  evening.  But  to- 
morrow, if  you  would — thanks." 

She  wrote  a  few  lines  on  a  visiting-card,  put  it  in  an 
envelope,  and  called  Hedvig  in. 

"  A  letter  to  go,  Hedvig.     This  evening,  please." 

"  To  the  post  ?  " 

"  No,  by  hand.     You  can  take  it  round  yourself." 

Hedvig  glanced  at  the  address,  blushed  a  fiery  red, 
and  left  the  room. 

Take  it  round  herself — certainly  not.  She  could 
send  one  of  the  boys  playing  about  outside.  Still,  there 
must  be  something  particular  in  the  letter,  so  that  Johan 
Fors  would  understand  her  mistress  had  told  her  to 
bring  it  herself.     And  perhaps  it  was  urgent.     Possibly 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     159 

there  might  be  something  in  it  far  too  important  to 
entrust  to  a  casual  street  boy.  Still  .  .  .  Hedvig 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  would  send  a  boy,  after 
all.  But  she  put  on  her  best  jacket  and  the  smart  little 
cap  her  mistress  had  given  her.  She  twisted  round  in 
front  of  the  glass — yes,  it  suited  her,  that  cap.  There 
was  a  sort  of  breezy  freshness  about  it. 

She  went  out  on  to  the  steps  in  front  of  the  house. 
The  shouts  of  children  at  play  echoed  among  the  tall 
buildings.  Hedvig  picked  out  a  youngster  who  was 
clambering  up  into  an  empty  goods  waggon  on  a  siding. 
Would  he  deliver  a  letter  ?  Good,  then  ;  here.  She 
took  him  alone  and  explained  very  carefully  that  the 
letter  was  to  be  delivered  to  the  addressee  in  person — 
given  into  his  own  hands,  that  is. 

"  And  if  he's  not  there,  then — well,  then  you  must 
find  out  where  he  is,  and  go  and  find  him.  Here's  five 
0re.  You'll  be  coming  back  here  to  play,  won't  you  ? 
Then  you'd  better  come  and  let  me  know  you've 
delivered  it  safely.  I'll  give  you  something  more  when 
you  come  back.     You'll  find  me  here." 

She  had  one  hand  on  the  boy's  slight  warm  neck, 
guiding  him  in  and  out  between  the  metals  of  the  sidings, 
and  still  holding  the  important  letter.  She  did  not  like 
to  let  it  go  till  the  last  minute. 

And  then,  after  the  boy  had  repeated  his  instruc- 
tions and  she  had  given  them  again,  who  should  appear 
but  Johan  Fors  himself,  striding  out  from  a  narrow  alley 
close  by. 

Hedvig  forgot  all  about  the  boy — almost  forgot  to 
breathe — but  stepped  straight  across  the  line  to  Johan. 
"  Godaften!  How  lucky  you  happened  to  come  along! 
I've  a  letter  for  you  here  from  Fru  van  Haag.  I  was 
just  telling  Oscar  here  where  to  take  it.  .  .  ." 


160    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Johan  Fors  was  carrying  a  violin  case — a  real  one, 
newly  varnished  and  shining. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  Then  he  set  down 
the  vioUn  case  with  the  greatest  care  on  the  toes  of  his 
boots,  took  out  a  big  pocket-book,  and  put  the  letter 
away  without  so  much  as  glancing  at  the  address. 
"  You  might  have  brought  it  yourself  !  " 

This  was  an  enormous  mark  of  favour.  Hedvig 
made  no  answer,  but  turned  and  walked  down  with 
Johan  Fors  towards  the  harbour. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot.  Here,  Oscar,  I  promised  you  two  0re 
extra,  didn't  I  ?  "  The  boy  had  followed  them  without 
a  word.  "  There  !  Now  run  away  and  play  with  the 
others." 

Hedvig  and  Johan  were  alone. 

Hedvig  turned  her  head  and  saw  that  Johan  was 
laughing  as  he  walked.  This  was  nice ;  Hedvig 
laughed  herself.  But  then  he  stopped.  It  must  have 
been  the  letter,  then,  he  was  so  pleased  about  it.  Ah, 
well  .  .  . 

But  she  could  not  go  along  like  this  and  say  nothing. 
What  should  she  say  ?  All  that  came  into  her  head 
seemed  stiff  and  unnatural.  Anyhow,  she  must  make 
a  start. 

"  Are  you  going  off  somewhere  to  play  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Ye — es."  Johan  managed  to  charge  the 
word  with  deep  and  mysterious  meaning.  He  nodded, 
too,  with  hke  effect. 

"  It  must  be  lovely  to  be  able  to  play.  I  play  the 
piano,  of  course,  a  bit.     But  not  really,  Uke  you." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is — but  why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  because  you  know  it  pleases  other  people." 

"  H'm.  I  know  one  person  who  wasn't  pleased 
once.     Said  no,  when  I  offered  to  play." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG  161 

Hedvig  drew  herself  up  and  said  in  her  firmest  voice  : 
"  It's  really  very  stupid  of  you,  Johan  Fors,  to  make 
such  a  fuss  about  that  night.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
let  you  come  up  to  my  room,  even  if  it  was  the  middle 
of  the  night,  and  I  should  have  lost  my  place  for  a 
certainty." 

"  What's  a  trifle  hke  that  compared  to  .  .  ." 
"  Well,  I  say,  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  done  as  you 
said.     But  if  it  was  wrong  of  me,  do  you  think  it's 
right  of  you  to  be  so — so  bloodthirsty  in  revenge  ?     Is 
it  manly,  now  ?  " 

Yes.     Johan  did.     But  there  was  an  unmistakable 
hesitation  in  his  voice  as  he  said  so. 

"  It  seems  to  me  it's  stupid  to  waste  a  whole  summer 
because  of  a  httle  thing  hke  that."  Hedvig  reaUsed  the 
moment  she  had  spoken  that  she  had  made  an  un- 
fortunate choice  of  words,  but  now  it  was  too  late. 
"  Waste  !  Huh  !  I  haven't  wasted  anything." 
"  Yes,  you  have — you've  wasted  and  spoiled  a  good 
deal  for  me,"  said  Hedvig  adroitly.  "  But,  tell  me 
honestly,  now — would  you  rather  I — I  didn't  go  with 
you  any  farther  ?  " 

They  were  nearly  at  the  harbour  now.  Johan  had 
a  boat  lying  moored  at  a  tiny  landing-stage  close  by. 
He  was  going  out  on  one  of  his  well-known  mysterious 
excursions,  to  play  to  himself  somewhere  all  alone. 
Since  that  conversation  with  Fru  van  Haag  he  had 
practised  with  feverish  zeal.  He  had  bought  an  in- 
struction book,  learned  his  notes,  and  a  great  deal  more. 
The  Professor  should  not  find  him  altogether  an  ignora- 
mus. He  had  thought  now  to  walk  down  with  Hedvig 
as  far  as  the  Toldbod,  leave  her  there,  and  go  down  to 
his  boat ;  for  to  a  nature  such  as  his  it  was  intolerable 
to  appear  anything  short  of  perfection  in  the  eyes  of 
II 


162     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

another.  It  was  thus  most  inconvenient  that  Hedvig 
should  bring  up  the  question  of  accompanying  him 
farther  just  in  that  way.  She  wanted  to  go  with  him. 
It  was  no  use,  then,  his  thinking  of  seeing  her  back  to 
the  house.  He  forgot  how  often  he  had  longed  for  but 
a  few  moments'  talk  with  her.  He  was  irritated  at  the 
momentary  interruption  of  his  plan.  Nevertheless,  her 
clear  words  had  not  been  without  their  effect,  and  he 
strove  to  repress  his  ill-feehng. 

"  Go  with  me  ?  Yes,  why  not  ?  But  I'm  going  out 
here,"  he  pointed  with  his  vioUn  case. 

"  Out  in  the  boat,  yes.  But  can't  I  go  with  you, 
and  hear  you  play  ?  " 

Play — ^huh  !  Johan  had  no  thought  of  playing  this 
evening.  He  was  going  out  to  a  hut  in  the  woods  to 
Practise — learning  to  follow  the  silly  black  dots  called 
notes.  The  Professor  had  already  arrived — there  was 
no  time  to  be  lost.  Practise  this  evening,  he  must. 
Surely  it  must  be  the  devil  himself  that  had  sent  the  girl 
with  this  idea  of  hers  just  now  ! 

"  Well,  all  right,  then.     Come  along  !  " 

He  walked  on  ahead  down  the  landing-stage  and 
entered  the  boat.  Hedvig  stood  at  the  edge  as  if  in 
thought.  She  saw  how  he  carried  his  violin  case,  hold- 
ing it  as  carefully  as  if  it  had  been  a  child,  and  set  it 
down  under  the  middle  seat.  Soft  rings  showed  on  the 
water  round  at  every  movement  he  made.  Now  he  was 
taking  his  coat  off,  ready  to  row. 

"  Hurry  up  with  you  !  "   he  commanded,  sitting  up. 

The  bow  of  the  Uttle  boat  was  rocking  up  and  down 
a  few  feet  only  from  where  she  stood.  It  was  tempting 
.  .  .  just  the  sUghtest  httle  spring,  taking  off  with  her 
left  foot,  and  on  board.  She  knew  how  easily  and  surely 
she  could  do  it  ;   knew  how  the  boat  would  give  under 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     163 

her  and  recover ;  she  had  known  that  feel  of  a  boat 
since  she  was  a  child.  It  could  not  be  fear  that  held  her 
back.  But  .  .  .  there  was  Johan,  laying  his  coat  care- 
fully about  the  new  vioUn  case — and  he  had  only  a 
grudging,  unfriendly  word  for  her.  Not  even  a  hand 
outstretched  to  help  her  on  board.  No,  this  was  not 
the  joy  she  had  looked  for. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  come  ?  " 

"  Good-bye,  Johan  Fors,"  said  the  girl  quietly. 
Then,  turning,  she  walked  slowly  in  towards  land.  She 
could  see  the  ripples  from  the  boat  following  her  as  she 
went.  But  when  she  reached  the  big  flat  stones  at  the 
end  of  the  planks,  she  Ufted  her  head  and  strode  firmly  up. 

Johan  sat  for  a  moment  looking  after  her.  The 
boat  made  no  ripples  now.  Then  he  flung  his  hat  down 
on  the  bottom  boards,  cast  loose,  and  sent  the  boat 
tearing  through  the  water. 


XII 

FRU  VAN  HAAG  had  slept  but  poorly  after  all 
the  music  of  the  afternoon.  When  Hedvig 
came  into  the  bedroom  at  ten,  she  sat  up  and 
looked  round  confusedly,  frowning  instinctively  in 
readiness  for  battle. 

"  Oh,  it's  only  you,"  she  said  in  relief.  "  Is  it  awfully 
late  ?  Ten  o'clock  ?  Good  heavens,  child  !  Don't  say 
the  Professor's  up  already  ?  What  ?  Well,  get  every- 
thing ready  for  him — but  you  mustn't  mind  if  he's  a  bit 
irritable  in  the  morning.  He  doesn't  mean  it.  What's 
that  ?  A  man  ?  To  see  me  ?  As  if  we  hadn't  had 
enough  people  bothering  lately !  Johan  Fors  ? 
Heavens,  yes,  I  told  him  myself  to  come  at  ten.  Oh, 
well,  it's  not  a  matter  of  Hfe  and  death.  You  can  look 
after  him  till  I'm  ready.  Ask  him  in,  anywhere  you 
like,  and  talk  to  him,  WTiat  ?  Nonsense — are  you 
in  my  service,  or  are  you  not  ?  Then  do  as  I  bid  you, 
miss,  if  you  please.  Go  out  and  entertain  Johan  Fors  ! 
This  moment — do  you  hear  I  " 

Hedvig  did  her  best  to  draw  up  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  and  make  her  eyes  to  twinkle  as  in  mirth.  She 
succeeded  far  enough  to  give  her  mistress  the  impression 
that  all  was  well.  Then,  going  out,  she  ushered  Johan 
Fors  into  the  drawing-room,  and  left  him  there. 

Fru  Clara  took  her  time.     It  was  half-past  ten  when 

she  came  out  into  the  corridor,  just  as  the  Professor  was 

passing. 

164 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    165 

"  Morning,  my  dear  lady.  Yes,  you  were  right ; 
he  is  a  beast," 

"  Oh,  so  you've  seen  him  ?  Yes,  he  is  a  beast,  isn't 
he  ?     I  said  so  in  my  letter,"  whispered  Fru  Clara. 

"  Ah,  but  you  said  a  remarkable  beast.  And  that, 
my  dear  lady,  was  an  exaggeration." 

Fru  Clara  noted  that  the  Professor  was  in  a  difficult 
mood,  and  merely  answered  : 

"  Come  along,  tea's  ready.  But  we  must  invite  the 
beast,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  by  all  means ;  only,  in  that  case  we  shan't 
invite  me.     Or,  if  we  do,  I  shan't  come." 

"  Don't  tell  me  Hans  Juhl's  turned'out  a  snob," 
said  Fru  van  Haag  with  conviction.  She  led  the  way 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  the  Professor,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  followed. 

But  Fruen  could  not  deny  even  to  herself  that  she 
found  Johan  Fors'  appearance  disappointing.  She  had 
imagined  him  in  his  painting-smock,  spotted  with  all 
the  colours  of  a  meadow  in  spring,^  with  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat  for  choice,  and  a  smeary  paint-pot  in  one 
hand.  And  now — here  he  was  in  ready-made,  rather 
ill-fitting  clothes  of  an  indefinite  greenish  tint,  with  a 
cheap  metal  watch-chain,  and  collar  and  cuffs  of  aggres- 
sive vulgarity.  On  the  chair  beside  him  was  a  black 
bowler  hat,  a  stiff,  unbending  "  Sunday  best."  And 
what,  perhaps,  was  worst  of  all,  the  old,  worn  fox-skin 
bag  that  had  seemed  so  romantic  was  now  replaced  by  a 
wooden  viohn  case  with  nickel  clasps. 

Fie,  Johan  !  The  one  hope  of  salvation  lay  in  the 
chance  that  he  might  be  coarse  and  amusing  over  his 
tea.  The  Professor  was  the  sort  of 'man  who  would  do 
anything  for  those  who  amused  him.  But  no  ;  here 
again  Fru  Clara  was  disappointed.     Johan  took  his  tea 


166    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

with  a  trembling  hand,  just  like  any  other  bashful  young 
man.  He  ate  but  little,  possibly  he  had  taken  care  to 
fill  up  before  coming  out.  The  only  saving  feature  was 
the  enormous  quantity  of  cream  he  took — but  that  was 
hardly  enough  in  itself  to  create  a  success.  Even  his 
golden  mane  of  hair  had  been  washed  and  combed  and 
plastered  down  out  of  all  recognition. 

"  Thanks  !  " 

"  Tak  for  Ter     "  Velbekomme  !  " 

The  Professor  thrust  his  chair  back,  looked  up  with 
an  expression  of  helplessness,  rose  and  walked  to  the 
window  and  back  once  or  twice,  put  on  his  glasses,  and 
cast  a  pleading  glance  at  Fru  Clara's  face,  but  finding 
no  mercy  there,  said,  with  sudden  harshness  : 

"  Well,  start  away  !     Fm  ready  !  " 

Johan  opened  his  case  with  a  smart  click  of  the 
nickel  clasps,  and  hoping  Fruen  and  the  Professor  would 
not  fail  to  remark  the  splendid  red  cloth  inside  the  case. 
Apparently  they  did  not  notice  it.  Johan  was  abashed, 
and  did  not  dare  to  acknowledge  that  he  had  once  thought 
of  getting  the  Professor  to  write  out  the  music  he  com- 
posed. An  awe-inspiring  glance  he  had,  that  same 
Professor.  It  was  something  like  the  glance  of  that  eye 
painted  above  the  altar.  If  the  rehearsal  were  to  be  a 
success,  Johan  felt  he  must  get  a  httle  farther  out  of 
range. 

He  took  up  his  vioUn  and  bow.  And  as  he  did  so,  a 
thought  more  terrible  than  all  the  rest  came  to  his  mind  : 
Hedvig  !  Hedvig  would  hear  every  note  !  She  could 
crush  him  to  earth  with  her  scorn  if  it  went  off  badly. 

"  Play  !  "  commanded  the  Professor. 

No — no — he  couldn't.  Not  here.  He  dared  not 
even  touch  the  strings  to  tune  them. 

"  If  you'll  allow  me  .  .  ."  he  began,  twisting  the 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     167 

instrument  round  and  round  in  his  hands,  "  I'd  like  to 
ask — if  the  Professor  wouldn't  rather  go  over  in  the 
church  and  hear  me  there  ?  " 

"  What  P     In  church  !     Did  you  say  in  the  church  ?  " 

"  Yes.     It  sounds  better  there,  so  if  .  .  ." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean,  man  ?  "  cried  the 
Professor  furiously,  snapping  open  his  glasses  in  a 
fury. 

"  I  mean,  you  can't  hear  properly  here  ;  if  we  hadn't 
better  go  over  to  the  church.  I've  got  the  key.  And 
we'd  be  more  by  ourselves  there." 

"  Are  you  an  organist  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Or  the  parish  clerk,  perhaps  ?  " 

Fruen  interposed  hastily,  "  I  told  you.  Professor,  you 
know.     He's  painting  the  church  inside." 

"  Appointed  by  the  Town  Council,"  put  in  Johan 
modestly. 

"  And  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  stand  and  play  in 
front  of  the  altar  and  have  us  sit  in  the  pews  to  listen  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  generally  play  in  the  pulpit,"  said  Johan, 
twirling  his  violin  once  more. 

The  Professor  stood  for  a  moment  glancing  from 
Fru  Clara  to  Johan  and  back  again.  Errant  memories 
crowded  in  upon  him.  Oh,  but  he  understood  thoroughly 
how  Fru  Clara  had  entered  into  all  this  !  She  had 
always  had  a  knack  of  creating  a  sensation  anywhere. 
He  called  to  mind  strange  things  from  the  Consul's,  her 
home  in  Helsingor.  Delightful  things — most  amusing 
things.  He  himself,  moreover,  had  played  a  leading 
part  in  some  of  them.  .  .  .  But  .  .  . 

No  !  It  would  not  do.  He  was  Professor  Hans 
Juhl  now,  with  a  reputation  in  his  own  country  and  one 
or  two  others.     No  sensation,  no  cheap  advertisement 


168    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

should  sully  his  name.  For  who  could  be  sure  but 
that  something  might  leak  out  about  this  unprecedented 
church  concert  ? 

"  No  f  "  he  said,  stamping  his  little  feet  on  the 
carpet.  "  I'll  give  you  two  minutes,  Master  Painter. 
If  you  want  to  play,  play,  and  I'll  hear  you.  If  not — 
why,  it's  all  the  same  to  me  !  " 

"  Of  course  he  will  play,"  said  Fruen,  with  a  glance 
of  hypnotic  force  at  Johan. 

"  Well,  then,  you'll  have  to  go  into  the  other  room, 
at  least.     I  can't  .  .  ." 

The  Professor  took  a  step  forward  as  if  about  to 
strike,  but  Fru  van  Haag  turned  him  round,  took  his 
arm,  and  led  him  into  the  adjoining  cabinet.  And  there 
she  held  him  prisoner  for  half  an  hour  while  Johan 
played  his  masterpieces. 

Strange  tones  poured  through  to  them  as  they 
listened.  What  Fruen  had  heard  that  evening  in  the 
church  was  as  nothing  to  what  he  now  conjured  up. 

A  simple  Uttle  melody  at  first,  then  repeated  ;  it 
was  easy  to  follow  and  recognise  again.  Like  a  fair- 
haired  woman,  it  was.  What  now  ?  The  woman  lets 
down  her  hair  ;  see,  she  is  sitting  by  a  rushing  river  ; 
her  reflection  is  there,  quivering  as  with  emotion  in  the 
water.  Singing,  she  walks  along  the  bank  between  white 
birches.  And  now — now  the  king  of  the  water-sprites 
reaches  out  his  mighty  arm  and  draws  her  to  him.  A 
hellish  roar  of  foaming  waters,  faUing  rocks,  crashing 
trees  ;    an  avalanche  of  sound.  .  .  . 

Johan  was  scraping  away  on  all  four  strings  at  once. 
The  Professor  set  his  glasses  straight  and  studied  a 
painting  of  some  hyacinths  in  a  vase. 

Silence.  Out  of  the  rushing  flood  gUdes  the  httle 
melody — the  fair-haired  woman.     Lovely  in  death  she 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     169 

glides  along  by  the  green  banks  of  the  stream  under 
white  birches.  .  .  . 

The  music  died  away  in  tones  as  delicate  as  moon- 
Hght. 

The  Professor  took  down  the  painting  from  the  wall 
and  carried  it  to  the  window,  peering  to  find  the  artist's 
signature. 

A  flurry  of  varied  notes. 

"  What's  this  one  called  ?  "  cried  Fruen. 

"  It's  from  Budapest,"  answers  the  painter,  without 
stopping. 

"  Sounds  like  it,"  says  Fruen,  with  a  nod. 

The  Professor  hangs  up  the  picture  on  its  nail  again. 

A  new  piece  now,  with  howls  and  roaring  and  name- 
less sounds. 

"  And  this  ?  " 

"  Last  winter.     Ice  in  the  Belt,"  answers  Johan. 

"  Sounds  like  it,"  says  Fruen  again,  with  a  nod  and 
a  triumphant  glance  at  the  Professor,  who  yawns 
slightly. 

"  Now  for  '  the  Church,'  "  says  Johan.  And  with 
bow  and  strings  he  builds  a  mighty  vault  above  him, 
full  of  air  a-quiver  with  the  tones  of  an  organ  and  the 
clang  of  heavy  bells. 

"  This  is  beautiful,"  says  Fru  Clara,  steadfastly 
ignoring  the  Professor's  expression,  which  is  unpleased 
and  unpleasing  as  ever. 

Johan  has  evidently  gained  courage  from  his  playing  ; 
after  a  few  rustic  dances  and  a  thing  he  calls  "  The 
Harbour,"  he  tunes  up  again  with  a  stubborn,  self- 
satisfied  air.  Then  he  falls  to  on  a  piece  which  Fruen 
recognises  as  Schumann's  "  Abendlied."  There  are 
mutilations  here  and  there  ;  she  sits  down,  placing  her- 
self between  the  Professor  and  the  door,  in  case  of  any 


170    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

murderous  onslaught  from  that  quarter.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  she  would  rather  see  the  glow  of  murderous 
lust  in  his  eyes  than  boredom  and  yawning  and  sudden 
interest  in  paintings  on  the  walls.  If  the  feeling  were 
only  there,  it  might  be  kept  down  and  converted  to 
something  else. 

"  What  do  you  call  that  ?  "  asks  the  Professor 
suddenly. 

"  Anemones  in  the  woods,"  answers  Johan,  and  goes 
on  playing. 

Ha !  Now  it  is  coming !  The  Professor  comes 
closer,  with  little,  energetic  steps.  No,  my  good  Hans 
Juhl,  you're  not  going  to  get  past  ! 

But  what  is  this  ?  Hans  Juhl  stops,  bends  over, 
and  whispers  something.  What  on  earth  .  .  .  what 
is  he  talking  about  ? 

"  Think  that  girl  Hedvig  could  manage  a  fowl  for 
dinner  ?  " 

Intolerable  music-murderer  !  So  this  was  what  was 
going  on  inside  his  musical  soul — the  finest  judge  of 
music  in  the  kingdom  !  Fru  Clara  rose,  with  a  sigh, 
went  through  into  the  next  room,  and  conveyed  to  Johan 
with  many  thanks  that  that  would  do.  The  Professor 
would  think  over  it,  and  let  him  know. 

Johan  inquired  if  he  could  not  speak  to  the  Professor 
now. 

"  Quite  impossible,"  said  Fruen,  with  a  wave  of  the 
hand,  which  somehow  managed  to  invest  the  matter 
with  an  air  of  mystery. 

Johan  wiped  his  forehead,  first  with  his  sleeve,  then 
with  a  neatly  folded  handkerchief,  laid  his  instrument 
back  in  his  case,  drew  himself  up  manfully,  took  his 
leave,  wiped  his  feet  carefully  on  the  Smyrna  carpet, 
and  went  out. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    171 

"  I  could  have  let  him  know  at  once  just  as  well," 
said  the  Professor. 

"  I  won't  hear  a  word  till  after  lunch  !  Come  along, 
we're  going  out  for  a  walk.  Through  the  town,  or  out 
in  the  woods  somewhere.  And  talk  of  old  times.  I 
want  to  put  you  in  a  good  humour." 

"  Silly  nonsense,"  snarled  the  Professor.  "  I've 
made  up  my  mind,  and  it  won't  be  altered." 

"  Come  along,"  said  Fruen,  wrapping  him  in  her 
smile. 

They  walked  through  the  town,  where  people  rushed 
to  the  windows  to  stare  at  them,  with  an  expression  of 
curiosity  almost  amounting  to  terror  ;  here  was  a  real 
Professor  walking  through  the  streets  of  Knarreby. 
All  knew  it  ;  even  Etatsraaden,  who  came  along  with 
his  big  dog  at  his  heels,  turned  round  after  he  had 
passed  and  murmured  to  himself,  with  embellishments, 
that  it  really  was  the  Professor. 

Lund  the  draper  came  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
street  with  some  paper  in  his  hand. 

"  Goddag,  Hr.  Professor — Hr.  Professor  of  Music, 
I  should  say.  You've  written  two  large  compositions 
and  several  smaller  ones — yes,  we  know  you  well  enough. 
And  you  know  me,  of  course." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  snapped  the  Professor. 

Lund  turned  pale,  and  stammered  out  : 

"  I — I  was  wearing  a  different  suit  ..." 

"Oh,  it  was  you,  was  it  ?  "  said  the  Professor, 
answering  grudgingly  to  the  pressure  on  his  arm. 

"  Ah,  I  knew  you'd  remember  me,"  said  Lund  grate- 
fully. "  You  took  a  peep  at  me  now  and  again,  especially 
just  as  I  was  going.  Yes,  I  swear  you  did — I  saw  it. 
Saw  it  in  the  looking-glass  outside  in  the  hall.  Didn't 
know  him,  did  you — the  other  professor  ?     But  here's 


172     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

a  cutting  from  a  paper — a  thing  he  wrote.  Read  it. 
Yes,  take  it ;  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  it.  Read  it 
yourself.     He's  a  first-rate  chap,  is  Georg," 

The  Professor  stood  with  the  paper  fluttering  in  his 
hand,  utterly  at  a  loss.  But  Fru  Clara  took  it,  folded 
it  up  neatly,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Oh,  but  won't  you  come  in  ?  "  urged  Lund.  "  Yes, 
do,  now." 

"  No,  thanks  very  much.     No  .  .  ." 

"  Fru  Haag,  do  make  him.  You've  been  in  my  shop 
before,  now,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  really,  Hr.  Lund,  I'm  afraid  we  can't  .  .  ." 

"  Can't  ?  Oh,  but  really,  you  know.  Just  step 
inside  for  a  moment,  so  I  can  say  the  Professor's  been 
here.  No,  don't  think  I'm  reckoning  on  doing  business  ; 
never  entered  my  head,  I  assure  you.  Though,  to  be 
sure,  there'd  be  no  harm  done,  as  a  business  man.  .  .  . 
No,  I  assure  you,  nothing  but  the  purest  motives.  Wine 
and  cut  glass  all  ready  set  out  in  the  office  at  the  back. 
And  in  case  you'd  care  to  go  upstairs,  my  daughter's 
just  bought  two  of  your  pieces  at  Dahlberg's.  He  sells 
music  too,  you  know.  Two  lovely,  dainty  little  pieces 
with  a  lyre  and  the  name,  '  Hans  Juhl '  .  .  .  and  really 
worth  the  money." 

"  Farvel,  Hr.  Lund,"  said  Fruen. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  won't  .  .  .  Farvel,  Fru  Haag. 
But  it's  your  fault,  you  know,  that  he  won't  come  in. 
He'd  like  to,  I  know,  and  upstairs  too.  I  can  see  it  in 
his  face.  Wouldn't  you,  now,  Hr.  Juhl  ?  Shake  your 
head — yes,  but  it's  only  out  of  pohteness,  I  know. 
You're  a  man  that  knows  what  good  breeding  is,  Hr. 
Juhl.  But  that  collar  of  yours  is  two  sizes  too  small. 
Read  that  cutting  I  gave  you — you  can  let  me  have  it 
back  any  time.     I  collect  them,  you  know.     Sorensen, 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    173 

he  collects  too — says  they'll  be  worth  a  pot  of  money 
one  day.     Fru  Haag  '11  tell  you  about  Sorensen." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Hans  Juhl,  when  they  had  walked 
on  a  httle  way.  "  Thanks  for  keeping  me  out  of  that. 
I  can't  stand  any  more  beasts  to-day." 

They  continued  their  way  up  to  Stationsvej,  with 
the  elms  on  either  side.  A  wet,  rich  autumn  breeze 
came  in  from  the  Belt. 

"  Like  the  Sound  at  Helsingor,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  Oh,  you  think  so,  too  ?  "   said  Fru  Clara  joyfully. 

"  Well,  you're  here,  you  know.  And  I  come  by 
boat  to  visit  you.  What  can  that  mean  but  that 
Knarreby's  Helsingor  and  Jutland  over  there  is 
Sweden  ?  " 

"  There's  more  of  Helsingor  here  that  you  haven't 
seen  yet.  Look  at  that  httle  house  we're  just  coming 
to  now." 

"  More  of  Helsingor  ?  How — you  mean  some  one 
else  owns  it  ?     Who's  that,  now  ?  " 

"  You'd  never  guess.  Do  you  remember  Kasper 
Egholm  ?  He  lives  there  now.  We'll  go  in  and  look 
him  up." 

"  Kasper  Egholm  1  "  The  Professor  stopped  sud- 
denly. "  No,  not  really  ?  Heavens — it  positively 
hurts  my  head  to  think  back  as  far  as  that.  He  was  the 
smartest  of  us  all,  and  the  one  you  favoured  most.  We 
looked  down  on  him,  I  remember,  because  he  served  in 
a  shop.  But  we  could  see  he  was  a  devil  of  a  fellow, 
really,  and  we  hated  him  because  you  saw  it  too.  What 
was  it  happened,  after  all  ?  I  only  know  one  fine  day 
he'd  disappeared.  How's  the  world  been  using  him 
since  then  ?  " 

"  How  does  the  world  generally  use  us  ?  "  said  Fru 
Clara. 


174    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Well,  I  mean,  has  he  grown  handsomer,  like  you, 
or  rounder,  like  me,  or  .  .  ." 

"  Come  in  and  see  for  yourself." 

"  No — here,  wait  a  minute.  Tell  me  first — what  is 
he  now  ?  The  house  looks  a  funny  sort  of  place  when 
you  get  close  up.  He's  not  a  grocer  now,  is  he  ? 
There's  something  that  looks  like  a  sign  on  the  door 
there.     What  is  he  ?  " 

"  What  is  he  ?  He's  a  photographer ;  but,  apart 
from  that,  he's  the  same  devil  of  a  fellow  that  he  used 
to  be,  I  wouldn't  change  him  for  anyone.  The  house 
is  his  own — and,  look  now — he's  going  to  sell  it  very 
shortly,  and  be  a  rich  man.  Possibly  he  may  buy  an 
estate  in  the  country.  But  come  along,  we'd  better 
turn  back  now.  We  must  get  home  and  see  what 
Hedvig's  got  for  lunch.  Did  I  teU  you,  by  the  way, 
that  Hedvig's  his  daughter — Egholm's  ?  " 

The  Professor  felt  reheved  as  they  turned  back,  but 
felt  instinctively  that  Fruen  was  displeased  at  his  re- 
fusal. He  endeavoured  to  make  up  for  it  now  by 
praising  Hedvig. 

"  Aha !  Now  I  understand  where  she  got  that  air 
of  hers,  and  the  eyes  too.  It'll  be  interesting  to  see 
her  again,  now  I  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fru  van  Haag,  artfully  seizing  her 
chance,  "and,  as  it  happens,  she's  in  love  with  Johan 
Fors." 

"  Very  sorry,  I'm  sure,  but  ..." 

"  Remember — not  a  word  till  after  lunch  !  " 

Hr.  van  Haag  and  the  Professor  never  met  except 
at  meals.  All  this  talk  about  music  bored  Hr.  van 
Haag  beyond  endurance.  With  others,  he  could  manage 
well  enough  with  his  London  fog  and  similar  remin- 
iscences,  but    with   the   Professor,   his    voice    sounded 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     175 

curiously  vague  and  hollow.  One  thing,  however,  he 
did  to  maintain  respect  for  himself :  he  changed  his 
clothes  three  times  a  day,  and  even  appeared  sometimes 
in  his  new  uniform.  But  what  difference  did  that  make  ? 
He  sat  as  stiff  and  silent  as  before.  No  one  bowed  down 
before  his  magnificence.  The  Professor  only  took  out 
his  glasses  when  the  piano  was  called  into  requisition. 

Worst  of  all  to  Hr.  van  Haag  was  when  these  two 
began  talking  gaily  together,  with  bursts  of  laughter 
over  things  and  people  utterly  unknown  to  himself.  At 
such  times  he  would  make  pretence  of  being  busy  at 
the  office,  and  rising,  hold  out  his  hand  condescendingly, 
which  done,  he  would  walk  round  to  Vang's  hotel,  order 
a  glass  of  tea  with  rum,  and  enter  into  interesting  con- 
versation with  the  housekeeper,  Fru  Vang,  old  Vang's 
daughter-in-law.  She  had  formerly  kept  a  boarding- 
house  of  her  own,  and  was  now  engaged  by  the  new 
Company  for  exploitation  of  the  tourist  market.  She 
was  clever  in  matters  relating  to  food  and  drink,  and, 
as  mentioned,  "  interesting  "  to  talk  to.  She  would 
talk  to  Hr.  van  Haag  of  the  serving  maidens — their 
serving,  it  appeared,  was  indifferent,  and  their  maidenly 
virtue  negligible  or  nil.  Of  the  gas  bill,  that  she  had 
managed  to  bring  down  to  three  Kr.  less  than  last  time. 
Of  anchovies  that  some  diner  had  complained  about, 
and  the  dealer  who  refused  to  exchange  the  tin.  Of  her 
husband,  who  had  gone  out  fishing  one  day  and  got 
drunk  on  the  way  out  and  drowned  on  the  way  back — 
and  was  now,  perhaps,  or  perhaps  more  Hkely  not, 
among  the  blest.  Then  by  a  happy  transition  to  the 
subject  of  church — she  had  noticed  Hr.  Toldforvalteren 
in  church  last  Sunday.  Then  on  again  to  the  question 
of  rehgion  and  conversion  and  other  remarkable  things. 
Hr.    van   Haag   contributed   a   remarkable  experience 


176    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

of  his  own  in   London  once,  in  one  of  the    London 
fogs.  .  .  . 

He  had  walked  like  this — with  his  hands  held  out 
in  front.     And  encountered  other  hands  .  .  .  thus  .  .  . 

Here  he  encountered — very  gently — the  hands  of 
Fru  Vang  herself,  and  she  grasped  his  and  gave  the 
least  httle  dehcate  pressure  before  releasing  them  again 
with  a  laugh  and  a  smart  Uttle  slap— not  in  the  least 
with  any  unkindly  feeUng  towards  Hr.  Toldforvalteren, 
and  he  on  his  part  was  far  from  taking  it  unkindly. 
Fru  Vang  was  not  exactly  young,  but  she  wore  very 
high  heels,  wliich  gave  her  a  sort  of  confidential,  forward 
stoop.  Hr.  van  Haag  had  noticed  it,  and  found  it 
pleasing.  Also,  she  wore  her  hair  cut  straight  down 
over  her  forehead. 

Meanwhile,  Fru  van  Haag  found  the  moment  oppor- 
tune for  ehciting  the  Professor's  opinion  with  regard 
to  Johan  Fors. 

"  Well,"  said  Hans  Juhl  thoughtfully,  picking  up 
his  glass  and  roUing  the  last  drop  of  his  hqueur  on  to 
his  tongue,  "  tell  me  first  of  all :  am  I  a  humbug  or  am 
I  not  ?  " 

"  Far  from  it,  my  dear  old  friend." 

"  Good  ! — I  only  wanted  you  to  admit  it  before  it  was 
too  late.  For — mark  my  words — you  can  be  angry 
if  you  hke,  or  call  me  an  ungrateful  thing  or  what  you 
please,  but — Johan  Fors  will  get  no  advancement  out 
of  me  !  " 

"  Need  you  be  so  hard  on  him  for  steaHng  that  Uttle 
thing  of  Schumann's  ?     All  the  rest  was  original." 

"  It  was  all  stolen — every  bit  of  it." 

"  That  won't  do,  Hans  Juhl !  If  so,  whose  was  it  ? 
Names  and  titles,  please,  at  once  !  " 

"  I'm  glad  I  got  you  to  admit  before  that  I'm  no 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     177 

humbug.  I  can't  say  who  were  the  composers — and 
yet  it  was  all  stolen,  none  the  less.  It  simply  comes 
to  this — the  fellow  has  a  good  ear — a  splendid  ear — 
and  he  picks  up  music  here,  there,  and  everywhere. 
Then,  when  he  gets  home,  he  takes  his  fiddle  and 
plays  over  what's  stuck  in  his  head.  But — he  plays  it 
wrong  !     And  that's  how  his  works  are  composed  !  " 

"  I  can  hardly  beheve  it's  that." 

"  I  found  it  hard  to  believe  it  myself.  For  the  first 
ten  minutes  I  fancied  he  really  was  an  artist — there's 
something  of  the  artist  in  him  certainly,  but  " — the 
Professor  made  a  grimace — "  his  '  compositions  '  are 
absolutely  worthless ;  worse  than  worthless,  really,  for 
they  would  hamper  him  unspeakably  during  the  long 
years  of  hard  work — and  anyhow,  he's  too  old  to  begin 
that  now.  In  a  word — nothing  to  be  done.  I'm  rather 
annoyed  at  his  not  having  stolen  something  from  you, 
dear  Fru  Clara,  and  edited  it  the  same  way — you'd 
understand  me  better  if  he  had." 

Fru  Clara  raised  her  head  as  if  to  speak,  but  checked 
herself,  and  sat  drumming  with  the  fingers  of  her  left 
hand.     Then  she  sighed — she  understood  now. 

Two  days  later  the  Professor  went  away  again, 
almost  as  abruptly  as  he  had  come,  leaving  the  Toldbod 
quiet  and  empty  after  him.  Hedvig  and  he  had  become 
great  friends.  He  ordered  her  in  at  times  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  piano,  helped  her  in  a  fatherly  way, 
stormed  at  her,  and  ended  by  praising  her  beyond  all 
bounds.  He  gave  her  pieces  of  music,  and  when  he 
had  gone,  there  was  a  ten-Kroner  note  impaled  on  one 
of  her  hatpins.  It  could  not  be  from  anyone  but  him- 
self. 

Fruen  called  Hedvig  in,  and  said  : 

"  Hedvig,  you  saw  and  heard  Johan  Fors  when  he 

12 


178    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

was  here  the  other  day.     Now,  I've  an  important  message 
for  him.     Would  you  Uke  to  deliver  it  yourself  ?  " 

"  No."  said  Hedvig. 

"  Don't  be  so  quick  to  say  no.  It's  a  message  he 
won't  be  at  all  pleased  to  get,  so  there's  every  likehhood 
of  his  being  glad  of  some  one  to  console  him." 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  I  can't  go  to  him  for  a  message." 

"  Has  anything  happened  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  about  him  any  more," 

Fru  van  Haag  looked  long  and  searchingly  at  the 
girl's  face  as  she  stood  there,  fair  and  upright  as  ever. 
Then,  with  all  the  brightness  she  could  muster  in  her 
voice,  she  endeavoured  to  dispel  the  youthful  dis- 
appointment. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  ?  But  /  do  !  And  he  shan't  have 
just  a  letter  that  would  still  leave  a  host  of  little  ques- 
tions in  his  mind  without  an  answer,  I'll  go  and  find 
him  in  the  church  myself,  or  wherever  he's  to  be  found." 

Hedvig  sighed,  and  merely  answered,  "  Oh,  very 
well.  ..."     Then  she  returned  to  her  work. 

Fruen  found  no  one  in  the  church  but  a  lad,  who,  on 
being  questioned,  believed  that  Johan  had  gone  back 
to  the  workshop.  Thither  she  went,  and,  sure  enough, 
there  was  Johan  at  work  on  a  small  cart.  But  his 
master  was  close  by,  painting  a  chest  of  drawers.  Both 
took  off  their  hats,  and  Johan  came  towards  her  with 
a  smile. 

The  master  stooped  down  again  to  his  work,  but 
with  his  ears  cocked  suspiciously  in  the  direction  of 
the  pair. 

"  May  I  put  on  a  coat  and  go  along  now  ?  "  said 
Johan,  with  his  good  smile.  And,  stepping  lightly  across 
the  shop,  he  opened  a  heavily  painted  wooden  door 
and  entered  his  room.    There  was  a  wardrobe  there, 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     179 

and  a  very  rough  sort  of  bed  ;  Fruen  wondered  how 
ever  anyone  could  sleep  with  all  that  smell  of  paint 
about.  On  the  walls  were  a  couple  of  paintings,  un- 
framed  ;  what  they  represented  it  was  impossible  to 
see  in  the  faint  light.  But  when  Johan  opened  the 
wardrobe,  Fruen  could  see,  on  the  inner  side  of  the  door, 
a  sheet  of  card  with  a  drawing  in  black  chalk.  She 
went  a  few  steps  nearer,  saying  by  way  of  pretext, 
"  Don't  bother  to  put  on  a  collar  !  "  And  now  she 
could  see  that  the  girl  there  was  Hedvig  ;  her  face  to  the 
Ufe,  with  the  same  Hght  in  her  eyes,  and  her  hair  just 
as  it  was  ;  there  was  even  something  of  Hedvig's  up- 
right bearing  in  the  pose.  And  in  the  front  of  the  dress 
was  the  httle  brooch  Fru  van  Haag  had  given  her  herself 
the  first  day. 

Johan  slammed  the  wardrobe  door  to,  and  came 
through  into  the  shop  again,  buttoning  his  coat  as 
he  walked.  Then,  without  a  word  to  his  master,  he 
followed  Fruen  out  into  the  street. 

They  walked  along  past  some  little  gardens,  with 
wide  expanse  of  stubble  fields  on  the  other  side. 

"  It's  nothing  very  pleasant  I've  got  to  tell  you," 
said  Fruen. 

"  No,  I  guessed  as  much.  The  Professor  didn't  like 
my  things  ?  " 

"  It  wasn't  that  exactly.  ..."  Fru  van  Haag  was 
not  generally  lacking  in  firmness,  but  she  had  seen  that 
picture  of  Hedvig — unquestionably  a  work  of  art — and  a 
new  plan  had  come  into  her  head.  This  man  must  not  be 
spurned  aside.  But  .  .  .  How  could  it  be  managed  ? 
It  was  his  right  to  know  the  truth.  "  The  Professor  did 
not  consider  your  work  original,"  she  said  kindly  and 
calmly. 

"  Does  he  think  it  was  part  of  it  stolen  ?  "  said  Johan. 


180     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Well,  since  you  say  so  yourself.  ..." 

Johan  shivered. 

"  Stolen  !  "  he  gasped.  "  Stolen,  my  pieces  that 
I  made  up  myself  ?  Not  a  note  of  it  was  ever 
stolen  !  " 

"  Look  here,  Johan  Fors,  I  like  your  music  im- 
mensely. If  not,  I  should  never  have  asked  Hans  Juhl 
down  here.  But — you  can't  say  _yow  wrote  Schumann's 
'  Abendlied,'  now,  can  you  ?  " 

Johan  stared,  open-mouthed. 

"The  last  one  you  played  when  the  Piofessor  was 
here.     You  called  it  'Anemones  in  the  Wood.'  " 

Johan  turned  pale.  "  I  must  have  forgotten,  then. 
I  can't  remember  everything  in  the  world.  I've  made 
up  over  a  hundred  pieces  myself,  but  I've  heard  thou- 
sands and  thousands.  Is  it  any  wonder  if  I  made  a 
mistake  ?  I've  been  in  all  those  countries  down  in  the 
south,  out  every  evening  somewhere — when  I  was  at 
work,  that  is  ;  I  mean,  when  I  had  any  money — at  con- 
certs every  evening.  Music  was  the  only  thing  I  cared 
about.  I  was  eighteen  weeks  in  Vienna.  Stolen  !  I 
don't  steal." 

He  had  spoken  brokenly,  the  sentences  tumbling 
over  one  another.  Suddenly  he  seemed  to  lose  his 
breath.  He  held  both  hands  to  his  face,  turned  away, 
and  leaned  his  forehead  against  a  tree.  Some  gleaners 
in  the  field — a  woman  and  two  girls — stood  up  and 
looked  in  wonder  at  the  two. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Fru  Clara,  with  evident  sym- 
pathy in  her  voice.  "  That  wasn't  all  he  said — the 
Professor.  He  said  there  was  something  of  an  artist 
in  you.  Most  certainly,  he  said.  And  he  didn't  mean 
anything  dishonourable  in  saying  the  things  were  stolen. 
But  he  thought  your  powers  could  perhaps  be  better 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     181 

used  in  some  other  form  of  art.  Painting  pictures,  for 
instance." 

Johan  turned  a  haggard  face  towards  her,  and  asked  : 

"  The  Professor — does  he  know  anything  about 
things  besides  music  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  he  does.  And  I  know  a  great  deal  about 
both.  I've  even  painted  a  picture  myself,  once — some 
hyacinths  in  a  vase,  and  it  hangs  on  the  wall  at  home 
now.  I  think  you  might  become  a  clever  artist.  And 
the  Professor  and  I  will  help  you,  as  far  as  we  can.  But 
come  along  now  ;  people  are  looking  at  us." 

So,  under  Fru  Clara's  magic  touch,  Johan  turned 
joyful  and  confident.  He  drew  out  his  pocket-book, 
and  gave  her  the  drawings  it  contained  ;  he  would  bring 
some  more  to-morrow — bigger  things,  better  things 
altogether.  And  when  he  left  her  at  the  foot  of  the 
Toldbod  steps,  his  strong  teeth  gleamed  in  a  great 
smile.  His  flourishing  farewell  was  all  that  a  woman 
could  desire  ;  when  Fruen  looked  down  from  the  window 
above  the  steps,  he  was  still  standing  there,  with  his  hat 
in  one  hand  at  his  side,  and  the  breeze  flinging  his  yellow 
locks  this  way  and  that. 

Hr.  van  Haag  had  already  sat  down  to  table  when 
Fru  Clara  entered.  He  had  found  voice  again,  and 
talked,  to  nobody  in  particular,  of  many  things. 

"...  And  they're  getting  up  a  collection — for  the 
further  decoration  of  the  church.  I've  given  two  Kroner 
from  you  and  two  from  me.  And  I've  promised  to  let 
a  few  ladies  meet  here  now  and  again  to  work  at  an 
altar  cloth.  Fru  Vang,  from  the  hotel,  will  be  coming 
up  one  day  soon  to  arrange  with  you  about  it.  A  most 
intelligent  woman — a  woman  of  culture." 

Not  a  word  said  Fru  van  Haag  by  way  of  answer, 
though  she  heard  it  all  well  enough.     It  was  a  blessing 


182     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

to  be  occupied  with  her  own  affairs.  Oh,  and  there  were 
so  many  things  to  be  done.  But  why  this  last,  that 
would  mean  both  trouble  and  money  ?  Well,  it  was 
only  reasonable  that  Hedvig  should  have  a  decent 
husband.  She  didn't  care  about  him  as  he  was  now  ; 
well,  then,  he  must  be  altered  to  suit  her.  It  could,  and 
should,  be  done. 

Fruen  wrote  many  letters  during  the  next  few  days  ; 
also,  she  went  off  somewhere  on  a  journey.  When  she 
returned  Johan's  affairs  were  well  on  the  way  ;  he  had 
been  granted  admission  to  the  Academy  as  a  non-paying 
student,  and  was  to  start  at  once. 

Engineer  Sveidal  had  been  to  Egholm,  and  had  made 
no  objection  to  the  sum  of  7000  Kroner  demanded. 
Far  from  it  ;  he  considered  it  a  very  reasonable  sum. 
The  business  could  not  be  concluded  on  the  spot,  but 
there  was  every  prospect  of  its  coming  off.  He  would 
talk  to  the  Minister  about  it,  he  said  graciously. 

So  that  altogether  Fru  van  Haag  had  reason  to  be 
pleased.  And  she  was.  She  shone  like  a  sun  over  the 
whole  town.  Fishing-wives  left  unprovided  for,  lamp- 
Hghters'  children.  Madam  Hermansen  with  the  trouble- 
some leg  and  the  never- weary  mouth,  the  char-creature 
Malle  Duse  with  her  brief,  sad  song — these  and  many 
others  were  regular  visitors  in  Fru  Clara's  and  Hedvig's 
kitchen,  where  there  was  something  to  be  found  for  each 
and  all. 

And  Fru  van  Haag  went  late  to  bed  at  nights  and 
fell  asleep  with  ease,  deaf  to  the  dull  meanderings  of  a 
voice  from  across  the  room.     All  was  well. 

Then  one  day  in  the  winter  Hedvig  came  in  and  said 
she  wished  to  leave.  Of  course,  it  was  an  awkward 
time  to  change  now,  but  she  could  get  a  friend  to  come 
in  her  place,  if  Fruen  would  let  her.     She'd  just  got 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     183 

the  chance  of  a  good  place  in  Jutland.     Not  meaning 
she  wanted  to  go  at  once,  of  course,  but  .  .  . 

Fruen  dropped  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"  A  good  place,  Hedvig.  You  mean,  you  know  the 
people  ?  " 

"  No,  but  it  was  in  the  paper.  '  As  one  of  the  family  ' 
and  all.     A  veterinary  surgeon." 

"  Then  you've  applied  for  it  already  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  got  an  answer  ;  I  can  .  .  .  but,  of  course, 
only  if  you  don't  mind.  And  Dagmar  could  come 
instead  of  me — she's  much  cleverer,  really." 

"  Well,"  said  Fruen,  with  difficulty,  "  I  suppose  you 
must  go — yes,  of  course.  But  we  must  fit  you  out  first, 
my  dear.  The  little  old  lady  from  the  little  red  house 
can  come  round  and  do  the  sewing.  And  we'll  go  along 
to  Lund's  to-morrow  morning.  Have  you  a  trunk  and 
things  ?  A  chest  of  drawers  ?  Oh,  but  you  must  have 
a  proper  travelling-trunk.  The  yellow  one  of  mine 
with  the  handles,  you  know — you  can  have  that.  Don't 
talk  nonsense,  child.  We  can't  have  you  going  to  a 
new  place  like  a  gipsy  from  nowhere.  What  would 
your  new  people  think  of  me  ?  " 

A  busy  fortnight  followed,  and  then — Hedvig  was 
gone.  It  was  Dagmar  who  stood  by  the  stove  and 
moved  about  the  rooms.  Dagmar  it  was,  beyond 
question. 

The  new  year  that  followed  seemed,  as  it  were,  still- 
born. No  tourists.  No  solution  of  the  railway  problem. 
Hardly  even  ships  in  the  harbour.  And  who  worked 
at  the  painting  of  the  church  ?  Two  miserable  appren- 
tice lads,  whose  work  was  not  worth  craning  one's  neck 
back  to  see.  The  Weiszs'  proposed  holiday  trip  with 
the  van  Haags  had  to  be  given  up,  owing  to  the  sudden 


184    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

indisposition  of  Fru  van  Haag,  who  found  herself  obhged 
to  stay  in  bed.  True,  the  indisposition  evanesced  as 
soon  as  the  hoUday  plan  was  given  up.  But  what 
difference  did  that  make  ? 

Egholm  in  his  villa  in  Stationsvej  had  to  wait  for  his 
country  mansion  ;  and  his  former  religion  had  taught 
him  to  meet  such  delays  with  dignity  and  calm.  Fru 
Egholm  did  not  mourn.  She  dug  and  weeded  in  her 
garden,  and  thought  it  a  paradise  on  earth.  For  it 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  neither  sun  nor  rain,  neither 
roses  nor  lilies  nor  the  scented  honeysuckle  were  in  the 
least  degree  stillborn.  Nor  was  there  anything  to  com- 
plain of  about  her  boy  Emanuel  at  his  high-class  school. 
Emanuel  was  growing  almost  beyond  her  of  late.  When 
they  were  alone  he  would  at  times  give  voice  in  strange 

9 

tongues,  and  refer  quite  calmly  to  such  things  as  '^'^\/  o 

His  mother  nodded  mutely,  and  gave  him  sweets  and 
money  ;  she  had  a  fervent  admiration  for  the  marvels 
of  science.  Afterwards,  she  could  pass  on  to  her  sim- 
plicity, the  things  she  had  thus  learned,  to  the  neigh- 
bours, or  to  Fru  van  Haag.  Two  sons  she  had  now, 
both  incomprehensible  beings — but  both  with  hearts 
of  the  purest  gold — for  Sivert,  too,  now  wrote  more 
and  more  in  English.  His  experiences  and  adventures 
were  manifold — and  not  all  of  a  character  to  be  passed 
on  to  silly  people,  who  might  misconstrue  his  words 
and  actions. 

Often,  in  her  dreams,  Fru  Egholm  heard  a  sound  as 
of  heavy  footsteps.  Sivert 's,  beyond  doubt.  For  he 
said  in  his  letter  that  he  was  still  tramping  about  with 
his  friend  Ferdinand. 

Hedvig  wrote  but  seldom.  She  was  in  Copenhagen 
now,  in  service  with  a  family  in  high  society.     She 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     185 

was  always  telling  of  how  much  she  was  learning — and 
how  much  more  she  wanted  to  learn. 

As  for  love-making  or  such-like  nonsense,  never  a 
word  from  Hedvig.  And  this  was  strange  for  a  girl  of 
her  age.  But  then,  who  ever  could  understand  Hedvig  ? 
Even  Fru  van  Haag  confessed  she  could  not.  She  and 
Hedvig's  mother  put  their  heads  together  often  and 
talked  long  of  their  young  friend,  till  it  almost  seemed 
as  if  she  were  there  in  the  room  with  them.  And  after, 
when  they  saw  how  empty  the  room  was  in  reality,  the 
tears  came  into  their  eyes. 

So  passed  a  few  more  quiet  years  ;  a  time  when  all 
events  seemed  buried  in  winter  sleep. 


XIII 

SINCE  the  time  of  his  famous  venture  in  courtship- 
by-proxy,  Emanuel  had  been  as  his  father's 
comrade  and  equal.  But  under  the  influence 
of  the  intellectual  nourishment  served  out  at  his  new 
school,  the  lad  had  grown  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
was  soon,  metaphorically  speaking,  thrusting  his  head 
through  the  low  roof  of  the  cottage  into  another  world. 
He  could  still  manage  to  accompany  his  father  on  a 
walk  in  the  woods,  or  go  sailing  with  him  now  and  then, 
but  found  it  impossible  now  to  take  part  in  his  religious 
rites,  a  source  of  thrilling  excitement  to  him  in  former 
days.  His  father's  voice  seemed  now,  as  it  were,  to 
come  from  a  distance  ;  it  had  no  longer  that  power  of 
tickling  his  ear  close  to.  It  did  not  matter  whether  he 
spoke  of  his  great  inventions,  past  and  to  come,  or  his 
revelations — for  revelations  he  had  had — or  of  more 
ordinary,  commonplace  things,  such  as,  for  instance,  the 
mysticism  of  numbers.  Mysticism — yes,  it  was  here 
the  crux  of  the  matter  lay — all  this  mysticism  became 
somewhat  tiresome  in  the  long  run.  The  figures  once 
learnt  at  school  could  be  quite  hard  enough  to  deal  with 
at  times,  even  as  they  were.  But  once  allow  them  to 
be  complicated  further — as,  for  instance,  by  reckoning 
I  as  the  Messiah,  o  as  Jehovah,  9  as  the  Third  Person 
of  the  Trinity,  and  6  for  the  Evil  One  himself — and, 
well,  there  would  be  little  hope  of  passing  official  exams. 

Emanuel  preferred   to  come   down  occasionally  to 

186 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     187 

his  mother's  level.  True,  she  was  mute  in  all  foreign 
languages,  but  in  her  native  tongue  she  could  speak 
with  remarkable  wisdom  of  her  flowers,  and  sun  and 
wind,  and  fowls  and  singing  birds  and  other  creatures 
of  the  garden.  She  waged  a  bloodless  war  with  the 
starlings,  that  sought  to  nip  the  shoots  of  her  tomato 
plants.  It  was  quite  amusing,  really,  to  see  these  small 
robbers  making  away  in  terror  when  their  wings  came 
in  contact  with  Fru  Egholm's  carefully  laid  obstruc- 
tions of  black  thread.  It  was  really  wonderful  what 
she  could  make  out  of  a  single  plant  in  a  flower-pot. 
As,  for  instance,  with  that  old  philodendron  that  Egholm 
had  accidentally  burnt  off  close  to  the  stem  by  putting 
a  lamp  underneath.  Emanuel  thought  it  was  done 
with  once  and  for  all ;  but  his  mother,  recovering  from 
her  first  grief,  declared  the  case  not  hopeless  yet.  She 
cut  the  wounded  part  clean,  strewed  red  brick-dust  over 
it,  and  placed  it  in  a  better  light.  And  now  wonders  began. 
There  was  a  little  grey  speck  on  the  stem,  that  had  always 
been  there.  And  from  this  issued  forth  a  tiny  shoot, 
gradually  extending  to  a  curved  horn,  rather  Uke  the 
spur  of  a  cock.  It  was  almost  beyond  behef  how  that 
spur  developed.  It  took  a  terrible  time,  to  be  sure, 
but  at  last,  at  long  last,  the  wondering  observers  could 
see  beyond  all  doubt  that  it  consisted  of  a  single 
delicately  rolled-up  leaf.  Then  one  morning  it  unfolded, 
and  lo !  something  larger  and  lovelier  than  had  ever 
before  been  seen — breaking,  moreover,  into  the  curious 
tatters  that  are  the  special  mark  of  the  philodendron. 
Day  after  day  mother  and  son  had  watched  together, 
and  marvelled  over  this  conjuring  trick  of  Nature  in 
drawing  a  brand-new,  beautiful  leaf  out  of  a  withered 
stem.  They  did  not  talk  much  about  it,  but  often  their 
eyes  met  in  intimate  understanding  when  they  marked 


188     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HA  AG 

how  the  plant  in  the  course  of  the  night  had  given  the 
horn  a  new  unexpected  turn. 

There  were  one  or  two  other  points,  too,  on  which 
mother  and  son  understood  each  other.  Egholm  in- 
variably kept  his  purse-strings  jealously  fastened,  but 
Emanuel  found  his  mother  always  ready  and  able  to  find 
some  way  of  providing  necessary  clothes  and  books. 
She  Hved  in  dread  lest  her  boy  should  appear  behind 
the  others  at  the  school.  It  needed  but  a  word,  and 
her  hand  flew  to  her  pocket,  or  to  the  old  brass  mortar, 
or  one  of  the  other  hiding-places  where  her  treasury 
was  distributed.  Now,  while  things  were  quiet  and 
steady,  Egholm's  business  brought  in  a  decent  little 
income — why  not  put  some  of  the  money  to  a  good  use  ? 
And  learning — surely  that  was  a  good  use  enough  ? 
At  times  Fru  Egholm  even  thought  Emanuel  too  modest 
in  his  demands,  and  went  out  herself,  without  sa3dng 
anything  to  him,  to  buy  a  book  or  so,  which  she  placed 
on  his  shelves  with  a  triumphant  smile.  They  were 
always  books  about  natural  history,  in  which  he  was 
especially  interested. 

The  practical  matters  of  the  home,  however,  in- 
terested him  far  less  now  than  when  he  was  younger. 
He  had  to  think  about  himself  now.  In  a  httle  while 
he  would  have  passed  his  first  exam — and  what  then  ? 
Fru  van  Haag  could  give  him  no  advice,  for  all  her 
wisdom  in  other  things.  All  she  said  was,  "  Well, 
what  would  you  like  to  do  ?  "  And  that  was  just  the 
difficulty.  What  he  would  Uke  to  do — to  be  honest, 
Emanuel's  liking  ran  chiefly  in  the  direction  of  listening 
to  the  chatter  of  starhngs,  or  watching  the  conjuring 
tricks  of  a  philodendron.  And  one  could  hardly  make 
a  hving  out  of  that  ! 

Altogether  it  was  a  difficult  matter  enough. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     189 

Then  it  came  about  that  Emanuel,  all  unexpectedly, 
stumbled  into  the  midst  of  an  event  which,  more  than 
any  previous  happening,  wrought  revolution  in  the 
Egholms'  life. 

It  was  one  day  in  March.  He  was  walking  home 
from  school,  feeling  fine  and  grown  up,  and  with  an  air 
as  of  an  eminent  lawyer  at  least.  Ho,  he  thought  to 
himself — didn't  use  to  walk  along  Uke  this  in  the  old 
days  !  No,  it  was  hopping  up  and  down  over  ditches 
and  planks  then.  But  that  was  ages  ago — thank 
goodness  ! 

He  had  only  a  couple  of  subjects  left  now.  And 
to-day  he  had  done  better  than  he  had  ever  hoped  in 
arithmetic.  But  he  was  feeling  tired  and  hungry.  He 
strode  rapidly  over  the  plank  bridge  and  in  through 
the  garden,  grasped  at  the  door — what  was  this  ?  It 
was  locked  ! 

Funny  thing !  Well,  well  .  .  ,  Emanuel  went 
round  to  the  kitchen  door.  Well,  of  all  the  .  .  .  This 
was  locked  too — unflinchingly,  unalterably  locked  ! 
Such  a  thing  had  never  happened  before.  In  broad 
daylight — and  a  weekday  ! 

He  walked  to  the  window,  and,  flattening  his  nose 
against  one  of  the  small  panes,  saw  his  mother  and 
father  grovelling  on  the  floor,  each  with  a  bundle  of 
paper  money  in  one  hand.  Emanuel  stared  in  utter 
dismay. 

What  on  earth  could  have  happened  ?  Where  had 
they  got  all  that  money  from  ?  Why  had  they  locked 
the  doors  and  never  heard  him  when  he  came  ? 

His  thoughts  flew  hither  and  thither,  with  nothing 
to  hold  by,  nothing  to  start  from,  flurrying  round  and 
making  all  more  tangled  still. 

Father  and  mother  .  .  ,  had  they  murdered  some- 


190     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

body  and  stolen  a  fortune  ?  Was  there  perhaps  a  still- 
warm  corpse  hidden  under  the  settee  ?  Ah,  it  would 
cost  them  a  good  round  sum  now  to  make  him,  Emanuel, 
hold  his  peace  ! 

At  last  they  heard  him.  His  mother  handed  her 
bunch  of  notes  to  her  husband,  and  sprang  up.  A 
moment  later  came  her  voice  at  the  door  : 

"  Emanuel  !     Come  along — quick,  this  way  !  " 

She  locked  the  door  again.  Emanuel  did  not  fail  to 
mark  that  her  face  was  hot,  and  her  hair  straggling 
wildly  about  her  forehead. 

"  Stay  where  you  are  !  "  cried  his  father.  "  No, 
come  along  in.     But  carefully — carefully,  I  say." 

Emanuel  took  hold  of  the  door-handle  limply,  but 
loosed  his  hold  again  and  let  his  mother  go  in  front. 
It  was  only  with  an  effort  he  could  move  a  step  himself. 

And  the  sight  before  him  now  is  hardly  calculated 
to  restrain  his  riotous  imagination. 

There,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  his  father,  pros- 
trate on  the  floor,  his  face  of  a  yellowish  pallor,  his  fore- 
head extending  back  in  an  idiotic  curve  right  to  his  neck, 
his  features  at  once  limp  and  excited.  He  waves  to 
them,  threatening,  without  a  word,  to  stand  still,  and 
indicates  helplessly  the  state  of  the  floor. 

From  the  settee  across  to  the  piano  and  under  it,  a 
carpet  of  notes,  set  out  in  row  upon  row,  with  a  finger's 
breadth  between.  The  room  is  paved  with  brown  tiles, 
each  of  them  a  ten-Kroner  note.  It  is  these  to  which 
Egholm  is  pointing,  with  a  face  of  misery,  without  a 
word,  as  a  cripple  drawing  aside  the  trappings  from  his 
maimed  legs. 

Emanuel  gripped  the  handle  of  the  door  to  steady 
himself  ;  he  felt  giddy,  as  in  the  old  days  when  Hedvig 
had  been  swinging  him  round  at  arm's  length. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     191 

"  Where — where  did  you  get  it  all  ?  "  he  asks  con- 
fusedly. 

His  father  answers  only  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 
He  has  still  a  thick  bundle  of  notes  in  his  hands ;  he 
picks  out  one,  pinches  and  waves  it  twenty  times  to 
make  sure  there  are  not  two  together,  lays  it  down  re- 
luctantly in  its  place  in  the  row,  and  takes  the  next. 
His  forehead  is  now  smooth,  now  wrinkled  in  perplexed 
anxiety,  wondering  whether  this  unheard-of  game  of 
patience  will  work  out. 

Fru  Egholm  follows  his  movements  with  her  eyes, 
and  makes  answer  nervously  to  Emanuel's  question  : 

"  Where  ?  Why,  they  came  by  the  post.  From  the 
Minister  himself — or  from  the  railway,  I  suppose  it  was. 
Oh,  and — good  heavens,  poor  child,  I've  forgotten  all 
about  your  dinner  !  But  there's  the  envelope,  so  you 
can  see  for  yourself.  How'd  you  get  on  in  arithmetic 
to-day,  dear  ?  " 

At  last  came  understanding — came  almost  with  a 
stab  of  physical  pain  to  his  head. 

Ah — aha  !  The  money  for  the  house,  of  course. 
The  sale  of  the  property  had  been  effected  in  the  mean- 
time quietly,  and  he  had  never  heard  a  word.  His  work 
for  the  exam  had  kept  him  out  of  it  all.  His  parents 
must  have  kept  the  whole  thing  a  secret — they  had 
never  done  that  before.  Anyhow,  here  it  was,  a  fact 
accomplished.  It  seemed  wonderful,  somehow.  He 
had  been  interested  himself,  long  ago,  in  the  question  of 
the  new  railway  station  and  its  possibilities,  but  the 
constant  talk  this  way  and  that  had  wearied  him. 

"  Don't  move  a  step,  either  of  you,"  cried  his  father 
suddenly.  "  I've  got  it  all  mixed  up.  Why  didn't  you 
stay  in  here  as  I  told  you  ?  I  make  it  twenty  Kroner 
too  much." 


192     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Emanuel  came  to  himself  again. 

"  That'll  be  mine,  I  expect,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Some  of  my  pocket-money  I  must  have  left  lying 
about." 

"  There  aren't  too  many,  you  may  be  sure,"  said 
his  mother.  "  We  counted  them  before,  Egholm,  when 
you  laid  them  out  first.     Let  me  .  .  ." 

"  No,  no,  no  ;  I'll  do  it  myself  !  "  And  Egholm 
began  glancing  in  little  jerks  from  note  to  note,  whisper- 
ing silently  all  the  time  as  he  counted.  But  the  result 
this  time  seemed  worse  than  before.  He  looked  up 
despairingly  and  said  : 

"  There,  you  can  see  for  yourselves  ;  fourteen  rows 
and  thirty-seven  in  each,  that  makes  .  .  ." — he  con- 
sulted a  scrap  of  paper — "  5180.  Now,  keep  that  in 
your  heads  a  minute.  What  was  it  ?  Right.  Then 
one  fLye-hundred-Kroner  note.  Wait  a  minute — I 
must  see  if  that's  genuine.  WeU,  that  makes — what 
was  it  we  said  before  ?  " 

"  It  makes  5680  altogether." 

"  No,  it  must  be  more.  Well,  perhaps  you're  right. 
Say  5680.  And  here  behind  me  I've  got  a  hundred  and 
thirty-four  in  tens.  That  is  twenty  Kroner  too  much. 
Not  a  shadow  of  doubt.  We  must  send  tliem  back  at 
once." 

"  Oh,  the  railway's  ever  so  rich,"  said  Fru  Egholm. 

"  Ah — I  see  what  you  mean — we  ought  to  sacrifice 
them  to  God  !     Not  a  bad  idea  !  " 

"  Hi — wait  a  minute,"  put  in  Emanuel.  "  Look 
here,  there's  one  missing  in  this  row  and  another  here." 

Sure  enough,  there  was  a  gap  in  each  of  two  rows, 
where  the  legs  of  the  piano  came  between. 

The  notes  were  now  arranged  in  hundreds.  Emanuel 
and  his  mother  sat  on  the  floor  watching  reverently. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     193 

Egholm  seemed  to  fancy  that  the  shghtest  movement 
would  create  a  hurricane  and  whirl  away  untold  sums 
in  a  whiff,  to  be  lost  for  ever.  Not  till  the  notes  were 
securely  bundled  and  tied  up  with  string  did  he  breathe 
a  sigh  of  rehef.  Indeed,  he  brightened  up  altogether 
now. 

"  Here,  feel'the  weight  of  them  !  Ah  yes,  run  and 
fetch  the  scales  from  the  kitchen,  and  see  how  much 
they  weigh.  It's  a  nuisance  with  that  one  for  five 
hundred,  though — that'll  make  it  less,  of  course." 

"  What  fun  to  have  the  whole  lot  in  one-0re  pieces," 
said  Emanuel. 

"  Seven  hundred  thousand  !  Yes.  No,  the  proper 
way  would  be  to  have  it  all  in  golden  ingots.  Then  all 
we'd  have  to  do  would  be  to  bite  off  a  chunk  once  a  year. 
Still,  notes  are  none  so  bad,  after  all.  Only  fancy, 
there  were  thirty  tens  numbered  straight  on.  Think  of 
it  !  Thirty  Unks  in  the  chain  of  wealth  that  holds  the 
world  together — are  mine  !  " 

They  sat  for  a  while  chatting  comfortably  together. 
Emanuel  ate  his  meal  with  rare  enjoyment,  while  his 
mother  went  to  and  fro  between  parlour  and  kitchen. 
There,  just  in  front  of  Egholm,  on  the  edge  of  the  piano, 
lay  the  bundle  of  notes  tied  up  with  string.  AH  three 
laughed  and  found  the  most  amusing  things  to  say, 
always  something  to  do  with  money.  It  was  as  if  the 
house  were  stocked  and  stuffed  to  bursting  with  money 
— money  in  every  possible  form.  Thus  occupied,  they 
failed  to  notice  a  timid  httle  knocking  at  the  door.  And 
with  the  suddenness  of  a  vision,  the  door  opened  and 
there  stood  Fru  van  Haag  herself  before  them. 

Egholm  jerked  the  string,  and  the  bundle  of  notes 
hopped  down  hke  a  puppy  beneath  his  chair. 

"  Egholm  and  his  distinguished  last-bom  both  look- 
13 


194     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

ing  as  if  turned  to  stone.  Am  I  really  such  a  fright  as 
all  that  ?  "  said  Fru  van  Haag. 

"  N— o,  not  at  all,"  stammered  Egholm.  "  Only,  I 
thought  the  street  door  was  locked." 

"  It  was.  And  so  I  had  to  climb  up  on  the  garden 
seat  and  get  through  the  window." 

This  set  Egholm  off  laughing  again — it  was  simply 
too  dehghtful  to  think  of  :  the  finest,  loveliest  woman 
in  all  the  world  clambering  in  through  a  window  to  see 
him  !  He  would  have  said  something  properly  amusing, 
but,  finding  it  impossible  to  speak  at  all  at  the  moment, 
he  went  round  in  front  of  the  chair  on  which  Fru  van 
Haag  had  just  sat  down,  and  began  winding  up  the 
string,  sending  the  toy  puppy-dog  (value  7000  Kr.) 
hopping  along  over  the  floor.  At  last  he  hauled  it  in, 
hoisted  it  up,  and  after  many  antics  and  capers,  lowered 
it  into  Fruen's  lap. 

Wondering  queries  followed,  and  were  met  with 
smart,  swift  reports  like  short  hurrahs. 

"  And  we're  happy,  then,"  said  Fruen,  when  she 
grasped  what  had  happened.  She  stood  up,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  and  threw  her  silk-sleeved  arms  about  his 
faded  shoulders. 

Fruen  demanded  that  the  bundle  should  be  un- 
fastened. Egholm  complied  ;  he  had  not  the  shghtest 
fear  now  of  hurricanes,  or  any  catastrophe  whatever. 

"  Well,"  said  Fru  van  Haag,  turning  over  the  notes, 
"it's  money,  right  enough.  Real  money — heaps  of 
money." 

"  You've  seen  more  than  that  at  a  time.  There 
used  to  be  piles  in  your  father's  safe,  rolls  of  money,  as 
high  as  that  from  the  floor  !  " 

Fruen  shook  her  head.  "  Ah  no,  that  wasn't  the 
same  thing.     How  long  did  it  all  last  when  the  passage 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG       195 

dues  were  abolished  ?  No  ;  money  should  be  where 
there's  room  for  it — that  is,  where  there  wasn't  any  to 
speak  of  before." 

"  Precisely  my  own  opinion,"  said  Egholm,  with  a 
bow  and  a  scrape.  "  But  where  are  we  to  store  this 
treasure  for  to-night  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  the  bank.     Where  else  .  .  .  ?  " 

But  Egholm  didn't  believe  in  banks.  He  wanted 
to  guard  his  treasure  himself.  And  surely  it  wasn't 
pleasing  to  the  Lord  to  have  things  stowed  away  so 
safely  that  he  couldn't  lay  a  finger  on  them  if  he 
wished. 

"  Bury  it  imder  the  cherry  tree,"  suggested  Emanuel. 

Fruen  entered  into  the  hidden  treasure  idea  at  once. 
It  was  so  delightfully  romantic. 

"  Suppose  you  took  it  to  bed  with  you  ?  " 

"  That's  not  a  bad  idea." 

"  Yes  ;  hide  them  under  your  pillow." 

"  No,  under  the  pillow  won't  do.  That's  the  first 
place  a  thief  would  look.  Much  rather  make  a  bed  of 
notes,  so  I  could  hear  them  crackling  every  time  I  move, 
and  wake  up  half  suffocated  to  find  the  big  blue  five- 
hundred  fellow  shifted  across  my  mouth." 

Fru  Egholm  had  slipped  away  to  her  own  domains  ; 
she  entered  now  with  a  strange  but  festive  arrangement 
on  a  tray — chocolate  in  a  cup,  a  plate  of  cakes,  and  at 
least  five  glasses  of  different  sorts  of  Syltetoj. 

"  What's  Little  Mother  been  up  to  now  ?  And  I'm 
on  strict  diet,"  said  Fruen,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 
But  she  began  at  once  fingering  the  glass  of  wild  straw- 
berries. 

"  Just  for  once,"  said  Fru  Egholm  persuasively. 
"  Seeing  what  a  grand  day  it  is  for  Egholm." 

"  And  for  you  too,  surely  ?  " 


196    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Ah  no.  If  only  I'd  had  my  httle  garden  to  keep, 
the  railway  might  have  kept  their  money  for  me  !  " 

Fru  van  Haag  set  down  her  plate  and  spoon.  Her 
cheeks  paled,  her  eloquent  brown  eyes  grew  wide  and 
anxious. 

"  Are  they  taking  away  your  garden,  Little  Mother  ? 
And  here  are  we  going  on  like  this  as  if  it  were  the  luckiest 
thing  in  the  world.  Oh,  that's  too  cruel !  We  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  ourselves.  But  they  mustn't ;  we  won't 
let  them  !  " 

"  We  can't  very  well  get  all  this  money  and  keep 
the  house  and  garden  as  well,"  said  Egholm,  stalking 
nervously  up  and  down. 

"  And  just  now,  when  the  crocuses  are  coming  out 
everywhere.  And  there's  big  green  leaves  on  the 
honeysuckle  by  the  window  already  !  Oh,  how  could 
we  be  so  cruel  to  Little  Mother  !  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it  !  "  cried  Egholm  cheerfully,  twirl- 
ing his  precious  bundle  by  the  string.  "  You  haven't 
heard  my  last  stroke  of  genius.  Nearly  as  smart  as  the 
deal  itself.  I've  sold  the  place,  it's  true,  but  we're  not 
to  move  out  of  it,  for  all  that.  I've  rented  my  house 
from  the  railway  till  the  first  of  August  !  " 

"  That's  four  months.     But  what  about  after  ?  " 

Egholm  repeated  the  word  uncomprehendingly. 
"  After  ?  "  He  was  neither  accustomed  nor  inclined  to 
think  ahead  through  all  eternities  at  once. 

Fru  van  Haag  stroked  Little  Mother's  hand.  No, 
it  was  no  good  giving  way  like  that  now,  after  the  thing 
was  done.  She  had  felt  with  Egholm  in  the  matter, 
had  surrendered  to  the  excitement  of  the  scheme, 
eager  to  see  if  he  really  would  succeed  in  disappointing 
all  the  town  and  becoming  a  rich  man.  That  it  might 
cost  something  to  get  rich  had  never  entered  her  head. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     197 

"  But  what  are  we  to  give  Little  Mother  instead^of 
her  Garden  of  Eden  ?  " 

Fru  Egholm  stroked  her  cheek  awkwardly  and  said : 

"  If  you'd  play  to  us  a  Uttle  ..." 

"  This  very  minute  !  "  cried  Fruen,  and  ran  to  the 
piano.  Her  spring  coat  was  coloured  like  the  inside 
of  a  mussel  shell. 

She  sat  down  and  began  to  play  ;  first  a  few  runs, 
as  if  accustoming  her  fingers  to  the  ground.  Some  of 
the  notes  were  stiff.  Then  she  played  a  few  pieces, 
whatever  came  into  her  head.  She  named  each  as  it 
came.     Stephen  Heller.     A  Uttle  thing  of  Haydn. 

Egholm  nodded.  Haydn — yes,  he  knew  him.  What 
was  there  Egholm  didn't  know  ? 

Chopin — "  Berceuse." 

Emanuel  and  his  mother  stood  silently  in  the  back- 
ground. Egholm's  musical  sense  was  practically  deaf- 
mute,  but  he  Hked  this  "Berceuse"  thing.  There — a 
funny  little  trill  there.  And  there  it  was  again  !  Would 
it  come  any  more  ? 

Fruen  half  turned  in  her  seat.  Wasn't  there  any- 
thing Little  Mother  would  specially  Uke  ? 

"  Eh,  no — it  was  all  just  lovely,  whatever  Fruen 
played." 

"  Sure  there's  nothing,  really  ?  " 

Nay,  'twas  no  good  talking  about  it.  .  .  .  But  there 
was  a  thing  she  remembered  ...  a  thing  they  played 
when  the  soldiers  marched  off  to  Lundby  Bakker. 
She'd  never  forgotten  it.  And  Fru  Egholm  began 
telUng  how  she  had  stood  by  the  roadside  and  seen  it  all. 
And  when  the  wounded  came  back  into  Aalborg  the 
same  night,  blood  dripping  from  the  cart  on  either 
side  .  .  . 

Fruen  bent  over  the  old  piano  as  if  whispering  to 


198    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

it.  And  the  poor  decrepit  instrument  called  up  some- 
thing of  past  glories  ;  its  rusted  strings  and  dented 
sounding-board  gave  out  almost  more  than  they 
possessed. 

It  was  as  if  the  walls  fell  away,  the  room,  time  itself  .  .  . 

Hark  !  Tramp,  tramp — hear  the  crunch  of  heavy 
boots  upon  the  road  !  Clang — clanking  of  metal.  And 
see  there — red  faces  with  bluish-white  eyes  gazing  straight 
ahead.  A  thousand  haversacks  slapping  and  swinging 
in  time,  a  marching  forest  of  arms.  A  roar  from  some- 
where ahead ;  it  runs  hke  the  rushing  of  a  storm 
through  the  forest. 

And  now — fierce,  fiery  play. 

The  trumpets'  quivering  Hghtnings,  furious  hail- 
storms from  the  drums  ;  the  pitiful  tinkle  of  the  triangle, 
and  the  big  drum  thumping  heavy  blows  below  the  belt. 

"  Ah,  hsten  !  "  cried  Fru  Egholm,  hfting  one  finger. 

The  rush  of  sound  is  nearer  now.  Gusts  of  wind 
fling  it  furiously  up  the  green  slopes,  where  they  stand 
looking  on.  Then  fainter — fainter — fainter — till  nothing 
is  left  but  the  harsh  crunch  of  footsteps  tramping  alone 
once  more  along  the  heavy  road. 

Emanuel's  eyes  were  straining  wide,  even  his  father 
scratched  thoughtfully  at  his  wreath  of  hair.  Fru 
Egholm  wrung  her  hands  and  said,  with  emotion  : 

"  Yes,  it  was  that  very  one.  Oh,  it  was  good  of  you 
to  remember  it.     I've  never  heard  it  since  until  to-day." 

"  It  was  you  that  sang  it  into  my  ear,"  said  Fruen, 
with  a  gentle  smile. 

She  rose,  and  began  drawing  on  her  gloves.  Egholm 
offered  to  see  her  home. 

"  You — in  those  old  rags,"  said  Fru  Egholm,  horrified, 
"  A  nice  thing,  indeed  !  " 

"  I'll  put  on  my  decorations  !  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     199 


Decorations — huh  !  " 

Ah,  you  just  look  !  "  Egholm  had  hung  the  bundle 
of  notes  in  a  string  round  his  neck. 

"  It's  nothing  less  than  scandalous  to  think  of  you 
walking  along  the  street  with  Fruen  hke  that  !  Oh, 
what's  that  ?  Let  me  look  !  Dear,  dear,  how  dread- 
ful !  " 

A  big  triangular  rent  had  been  torn  in  Fruen's  gUsten- 
ing  coat. 

"  Why,  then,  I'm  in  rags  too,  it  seems,"  said  Fruen 
cheerfully.  "  But  do  take  those  nails  out  of  the  window, 
Egholm,  before  I  come  again." 

"  But  he  mustn't  go,  really.  ..." 

"  Give  Little  Mother  all  the  money,  then  she'll  let 
you,  I  know." 

Fru  Egholm,  like  a  wise  general,  saw  her  chance  and 
seized  it. 

"  Well,  then— but  on  one  condition.  It's  nothing 
much  really,  but  ..." 

"  You  shall  have  whatever  you  wish,  Little  Mother. 
Aren't  we  ever  so  rich  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  agreed  Egholm,  anticipating  some  hint 
of  a  new  hat,  or  a  flower-pot  to  add  to  the  ninety-nine 
already  there. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Anna  Egholm  solemnly,  "it's 
this :  that  you  send  Sivert  his  passage-money,  so  he 
can  come  home  !  " 


XIV 


THERE  has  always  been  one  lawyer,  and  only 
one,  in  Knarreby.  His  name  is  O.  P.  Jensen. 
And  O.  P.  Jensen  is  a  big,  fat  man — a  whale, 
who  swallows  the  town  in  the  course  of  a  year  and 
throws  it  up  again  after  having  extracted  from  it  the 
six  to  eight  thousand  Kroner  which  he  requires  for  the 
means  of  life.  0.  P.  Jensen  is  hated  by  none,  and  liked 
by  two  or  three.  But  now  there  appears  on  the  scene 
a  scion  of  lawyerhood  by  name  Cornelius  Worm,  son  of 
the  brewer  of  that  ilk. 

What  does  Knarreby  want  with  him  ?  Away  with 
him — he  spoils  the  view  ! 

Every  one  remembers  yet  his  mischievous  tricks  as  a 
boy. 

His  ugliness  is  rather  of  an  inward  sort.  Outwardly 
he  is  none  so  bad.  A  mixture  of  good  and  ill. 
Rather  a  military  type  :  tall  and  sunburnt,  with  a  scar 
on  his  right  cheek.  It  might  have  been  gained  in  some 
fierce  duel.  But  no — his  vacant  look  denies  it.  Look- 
ing at  his  eyes,  it  seems  more  likely  that  the  scar  was 
left  by  the  lash  of  a  riding- whip. 

Cornelius  has  no  paunch  ;  he  does  not  go  in  for 
heavy  meals  at  convenient  intervals.  Cornelius  is  a 
weasel,  fasting  for  an  unconscionable  time,  and  then 
making  up  for  it  by  sucking  the  blood  of  his  neighbours' 
fowls  in  a  single  night. 

Egholm  sits  on  a  chair  in  Cornelius  Worm's  office. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     201 

The  young  lawyer  stands  in  front  of  him,  with  legs  wide 
apart,  talking  to  him  like  a  father. 

"  Put  your  money  where  it's  safe,"  he  says,  and 
strikes  the  desk  with  his  fist. 

"  I  don't  beheve  in  these  banks  and  things,"  says 
Egholm  modestly,  "  but  you  can  be  sure  I'll  put  it 
somewhere  where  it'll  be  safe.  If  I  could  open  my  own 
skull,  now,  I'd  put  it  in  there  at  once." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  banks  at  all.  No,  the  proper 
thing  to  do  with  it  is  to  invest  it  in  some  good  property 
or  sound  securities." 

"  And  where  do  you  find  them  ?  " 

CorneHus  had,  as  has  been  said,  a  vacant  glance, 
but  he  managed  at  times  to  imitate  an  expression. 
He  could  put  on  an  air  of  authority  and  power  by 
expanding  his  pupils. 

"  There  you  are  !  You  don't  know.  Consequently, 
what  you  have  to  do  is  to  engage  a  man  of  business  who 
does  !  " 

"  And  who'd  that  be  ?  " 

"  Me  !  "  says  the  lawyer,  and  as  he  utters  the  word 
he  screws  out  his  iris  to  unheard-of  limits. 

The  idea  of  Worm  as  a  confidential  man  of  business 
seemed  to  Egholm  at  first  ridiculous.  Worm — the  boy 
who  had  played  abominable  tricks  with  his  turbine 
boat,  and  afterwards  had  the  unprecedented  effrontery 
to  paint  his  name  on  the  side  ! 

Still,  sitting  here  with  a  bundle  of  notes  that  filled 
out  his  chest — pigeon-breasted  with  wealth — he  felt  he 
could  afford  a  trifle  of  foohshness.  And  he  answered 
smartly : 

"  I'd  been  thinking  of  that  very  thing  myself." 

"  And  very  sensible  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  said  Worm, 
with  a  short  laugh. 


202     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

He  turned  to  the  big  cupboard,  painted  to  represent 
oak,  and  began  drawing  out  mysterious  bundles  of 
documents,  turned  over  pages,  whistling  the  while,  as  if 
he  had  forgotten  Egholm  completely.  Here  and  there 
he  threw  out  a  httle  remark  :  "  Hotel  property — thirty 
per  cent.  No,  hardly  good  enough.  Third  mortgage — 
small  villa,  safe  as  the  Bank  of  Heaven,  but  too  low. 
Ah,  here's  something — gold-mine  shares,  round  about 
fifty  per  cent.  What  do  you  say  to  something  in  that 
Une  ?  " 

"  What  mine  is  it  ?  " 

"  King  Albert." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  how  the  devil  should  I  know  ?  Here 
it  is  :   in  Delavahana." 

"  And  Where's  that  ?  " 

Cornelius  Worm  was  smart  at  many  things,  but 
geography  was  not  his  strong  point.  There  was  an 
empty  pause.     Then  Egholm  said  resignedly  : 

"  Well — er — no.  I  shouldn't  mind  having  a  small 
share  in  a  gold-mine,  I  don't  mind  telHng  you  it  was 
a  fancy  of  mine  years  ago — gold-mining.  But  I  can't 
say  I  care  about  King  Alberts  in  Delavahana,  Whether 
it's  CaUfornia,  Africa,  or  Australia — I'm  hardly  likely 
to  be  going  there  now.  I'm  not  as  young  as  I  used  to 
be.  I  want  something  where  I  can  live  close  by,  and 
take  a  turn  at  the  mining  myself.  Go  out  and  grub 
about  in  the  sand  with  both  hands  and  fish  out  lumps 
of  gold.  I'm  too  old  for  the  other  thing.  No — if  you 
could  pick  up  a  bit  of  a  gold-mine  within  eight  or  ten 
miles  of  here,  say  ,   .   ." 

"  I've  ^oHt  !     The  very  thing  !  " 

"  The  devil  !     You  don't  say  so." 

"  Ah,  you  may  not  believe  me,  but  I  have." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     203 

"  Where — where  is  it  ?  " 

"  Here  !  "  The  lawyer  waved  a  document,  that 
seemed  mysteriously  attractive,  before  Egholm's  face. 

"  But  what  is  the  place  ?     What  do  you  call  it  ?  " 

Worm  sat  down  suddenly  in  his  chair,  and  said,  with 
the  pleasant  superiority  of  a  man  of  the  world  : 

"  My  dear  Egholm,  I  am  sure  you  have  heard,  now, 
of  the  Aaby  Brickworks  ?  " 

Egholm  had  certainly  heard  the  name  before.  This 
seemed  to  him  sufficient  grounds  for  nodding  emphatic- 
ally here. 

"  Well  and  good,"  said  Worm,  with  a  satisfied  smile, 
followed  by  an  expansion  of  his  pupils.  "  You  know  it. 
It  may  have  been,  perhaps,  a  trifle  hasty  on  my  part  to 
say  I  had  this  gold-mine,  but,  if  you  like  to  leave  the 
matter  in  my  hands,  why,  I  don't  mind  saying  there's 
little  short  of  the  Devil  himself  could  hinder  me  from 
getting  it.  Come  up  again  to-morrow  and  I'll  let  you 
know." 

Whereupon  he  ushered  Egholm  out  of  the  office — all 
but  thrust  him  out — without  heeding  his  objections. 

Worm,  this  son  of  a  brewer  of  small  beer,  a  lawyer 
whose  knowledge  of  the  law  was  watered  down  to 
near  the  limit  of  dilution,  was  brewing  here  a  crafty 
potion  that  went  to  Egholm's  head  in  a  very  httle 
time. 

Briefly,  the  course  of  Egholm's  intoxication  was 
as  follows  :  He  crushed  his  wife's  protests  and  warnings 
fiercely  out  of  being.  He  grew  poetical,  and  said, 
"  What,  you  say  it's  not  a  gold-mine  ?  I  say  it  is  ! 
Clay,  yellow  clay,  shall  turn  to  gold  under  my  hand. 
Haven't  I  always  wished  to  be  a  landed  proprietor,  a 
lord  of  the  soil  ?  I  shall  be  now,  in  the  most  literal 
sense.     Here's  the  clay  that  God  has  given  us,  a  good 


204     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

thing  in  its  way,  but  needing  treatment.  I'll  give  it  the 
treatment,  I'll  perfect  it,  glorify  it.  Didn't  I  once  in- 
vent something  specially  to  do  with  bricks  ?  " 

"  But,  Egholm,  do,  please,  find  out  a  Uttle  about  it 
first  !  " 

"  That's  just  what  I  am  doing.  I've  engaged  a  man 
of  business  already,  for  that  very  purpose  !  " 

A  week  after,  Egholm  went  up  to  Worm's  office  and 
signed  the  note  which  made  him  owner  of  Aaby  Brick- 
works. 

He  got  it  for  5000  Kroner  in  cash  —  a  ridiculous 
bargain  really  ;  the  total  price  was  only  14,000.  He  paid 
down  the  money,  handing  out  first,  of  course,  the  single 
^00-Kroner  note,  but  finding,  nevertheless,  that  his 
chest-protector  dwindled  abominably.  It  had  warmed 
and  weighed  on  him  so  pleasantly,  hanging  there  on  its 
string  hke  a  huge  amulet,  an  aid  to  all  that  was  desirable, 
a  charm  against  all  ills.  Possibly  it  was  this  feehng 
which  led  him  to  pack  an  old  Prayer  Book  in  among 
the  remaining  notes,  thus  not  only  maintaining  the 
previous  bulk,  but  even  increasing  the  weight — and,  of 
course,  the  value.  It  was  really  this  precious  work 
which  gained  for  Egholm  the  respect  of  his  fellow-towns- 
men. Every  one  knew,  of  course,  exactly  what  he  had 
got  from  the  railway  for  his  house,  and  with  equal  pre- 
cision the  amount  he  had  paid  for  the  Aaby  Brickworks. 
Whereafter  any  child  could  reckon  out  what  remained 
to  himself.  But  when  Egholm,  the  day  after,  chanced 
to  pass  by  Bro's  general  store,  he  recollected  that  he 
wanted  a  few  nails  for  his  boat. 

The  nails  cost  10  0re.  Egholm  opened  his  purse 
— there  was  not  a  single  Ore  in  it.  Bro  himself  looked 
miserable,  nay,  on  the  verge  of  tears,  at  sight  of  that 
lamentable  void.     But  Egholm,  turning  a  little  aside, 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    205 

drew  a  packet  from  under  his  vest  and  unfastened  it, 
and  tendered  Bro  a  lo-Kroner  note,  with  apologies  for 
having  nothing  smaller  at  the  moment.  And  while 
Bro  was  getting  the  change,  Egholm  half  furtively  laid 
his  packet  of  notes  on  the  scales,  which  promptly  in- 
dicated something  over  i^  lb. 

Thus  it  leaked  out  about  the  town  that  Egholm  was 
still  so  incontinently  rich  that  he  must  count  his  money 
by  weight,  albeit  it  was  in  paper.  Rumour  asserted 
that  he  had  won  the  biggest  prize  in  the  State  lottery. 
And  the  town  bowed  down  before  him.  All  on  account 
of  that  book  of  devotion. 

The  town  bowed  down  hkewise  before  Sivert,  who 
came  back  home  as  fast  as  the  steamer  could  bring  him. 
Outwardly,  no  doubt,  he  was  strikingly  Uke  the  Sivert 
whom  all  had  despised — but  there  was  no  getting  away 
from  the  fact  that  he  was  now  the  son  of  a  wealthy 
man,  and  heir  to  Aaby  Brickworks. 

Furthermore,  he  had  come  back  with  money  of  his 
own.  Some  rattUng  loose  in  his  trousers  pocket,  and  a 
nice  Uttle  bundle  of  genuine  dollar  notes.  This  was  the 
passage-money  his  father  had  sent  him  from  home,  and 
which  Sivert  had  saved  by  working  his  passage  across 
as  cook's  mate. 

Oh,  Sivert  was  no  fool.  He  did  not,  Uke  so  many 
returned  emigrants,  affect  a  fur  coat  with  the  fur  out- 
side ;  no,  but  he  had  what  was  better,  an  inside  fur — a 
fur  about  his  inner  being.  Formerly,  Sivert 's  inner 
being  had  been  naked,  exposed  to  the  scorn  and  derision 
of  all.  Now,  it  was  otherwise.  And  to  cap  all,  Sivert 
could  speak  English  to  the  extent  of  saying  "  No  "  and 
"  Yes  "  in  the  proper  places. 

His  father  was  not  a  httle  impressed  by  these  evi- 
dences of  culture  acquired  in  foreign  parts.     He  was 


206     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

constantly  asking  about  things  which  he  supposed — 
conceding  it  beforehand — were  "  different  over  there, 
of  course."  Si  vert  would  nod  portentously,  wrap  him- 
self well  up  in  his  inner  fur,  and  bring  out  his  Yes  and 
No,  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  concerned. 

When  alone  with  his  mother,  Sivert  would  creep  out 
of  his  fur  and  be  her  own  dear  boy  as  of  old.  They 
had  a  little  talk  together  in  the  kitchen  on  the  evening 
of  the  day  he  came  home. 

"  And  you  won't  be  going  away  and  leaving  us  again, 
now,  will  you  ?  I'm  sure  it  seems  a  blessing  and  a 
miracle  to  have  you  back  this  time." 

"  I  must,"  said  Sivert,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  can't 
stay  here.  It's  too  small  altogether ;  everything's  the 
same  here." 

"  Too  small — why,  surely,  dear — you  coming  back 
like  you  are  now,  I  shouldn't  call  that  a  little  thing  to 
begin  with.  And  then  your  father's  a  rich  man  now, 
you  know,  with  his  Brickworks  and  all.  No,  it  seems 
to  me  if  you  were  to  get  married  now,  while  it's  time — 
I'm  sure  you  could  have  one  of  the  prettiest  in  the 
town." 

"  But  if  there's  none  of  them  that's  the  sort  I  care 
about  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  of  course  .  .  .  But  what  is  the  sort  you 
care  about  ?  " 

"  Well,  first  of  all,  with  gold-filled  teeth.  They  all 
have  that  in  America,  and  you've  no  idea  how  desper- 
ately fine  it  looks.  Then  I  want  some  one  that's  simply 
wasting  away  with  love  and  longing  for  me.  Thrown 
herself  at  my  feet  at  first  sight,  without  me  begging 
or  forcing  her  any  way  myself." 

"  Why,  as  far  as  that  goes,  I'm  sure  there's  many'd 
say  '  No  '  and  '  Yes  '  in  English  and  thank  you  into 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     207 

the  bargain  as  soon  as  you  cared  to  ask  them.  But  as 
for  gold-filled  teeth,  my  dear,  'tis  vanity,  and  an  abomina- 
tion unto  the  Lord." 

"  Oh,  it's  only  here  in  the  old  country  He  doesn't 
like  it.  It's  a  pretty  custom,  really.  But  suppose  I 
made  up  to  Him  by  leaving  out  the  gold-that-glitters 
part,  who've  you  got  to  offer,  now  ?  " 

Sivert's  mother  was  glad  to  find  the  boy  wilhng  at 
any  rate  to  discuss  the  question.  She  was  kneading  the 
dough  for  a  Christmas  cake.  Taking  the  bag  of  raisins, 
she  set  it  in  front  of  him.  "  Help  yourself  to  some 
raisins,  dear.  Ah,  you  see  it'll  come  all  right  if  you'll 
only  be  good  and  stay  at  home  with  us.  What  do  you 
say,  now,  to  the  watchmaker's  girl,  Mille  ?  Yes,  take 
some  more,  do." 

"  Give  me  a  bit  of  dough  to  wrap  them  up  in.  You 
know  I  always  was  fond  of  raw  dough.  It's  nearly 
three  years  now  since  I  tasted  it.  And  it  was  partly 
for  that  I  came  home.  Mille — h'm!  A  watchmaker 
doesn't  sound  very  fine,  really." 

"  Well,  there's  no  such  hurry  that  you  need  say  yes 
or  no  this  very  night.  And  there's  those  three  girls  of 
the  vet.'s  ;  they've  been  going  around  ready  and  waiting 
ever  so  long,  and  none  of  them  engaged  yet." 

"  They're  hardly  what  you  might  call  sizeable  enough. 
I  want  a  fine  tall  girl,  one  that  looks  as  if  she  might  be 
sweethearts  with  a  dentist." 

"  Well,  what  about  Grocer  Salomon's  Elfrida  ?  " 

"  A  red-faced  thing  !  No,  I  like  'em  rather  pale,  for 
my  part." 

"  Well,  there's  Fanny  Due,  the  shoemaker's  girl." 

"  Shoemaker  !  As  well  say  cobbler  and  have  done 
with  it  !  " 

"They're  quite  looked  up  to  in  the    place;    and 


208     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Fanny's  just  come  out  of  hospital — I'm  sure  she's  pale 
enough." 

"  Good  !  We'll  keep  her  over  and  have  a  look  at  her 
later  on." 

"  No,  let's  see  if  we  can't  get  it  settled  now.  Take 
another  bit  of  dough  before  it  goes  in  the  oven." 

"  No  more  now,  thanks — it's  rather  heavy  on  the 
stomach  if  you  take  a  lot.  And  besides,  I'm  not  sure  I 
ought  not  to  feel  insulted  when  you  stand  there  offering 
me  all  these  wetched  womenfolk  just  to  make  me  forget 
my  own  true  love  that  ever  was,  my  sweetheart  of  old, 
Minna  Lund  !  " 

"  Oh,  there  now,  if  I  hadn't  forgot.  .  .  ." 

"  Ah,  but  I  didn't  forget  !  I  remembered  her  at 
the  right  moment,  I  did.     Is  she  still  running  loose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  .  .  .  But  there's  been  great  changes  there, 
since  the  old  days.  Her  father  died  last  month,  and 
she's  started  a  millinery  business  in  the  shop.  Getting 
on  very  nicely  too,  so  folk  say.  And  then,  besides,  she's 
got  her  pupils,  you  know.     Singing  lessons." 

"  Good,  good  !  "  nodded  Sivert.  "  Me  and  a  milhner — 
me  and  a  milliner  with  musical  talents.  Why,  I  sing 
myself.     Think  she's  forgotten  me  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  I'm  sure." 

"  There,  and  I'd  hoped  and  made  sure  she  would. 
It  was  she  that  got  them  to  keep  me  out  of  the  Club. 
But  if  she'd  forgotten  me,  now  ..." 

"  Well,  there,  I  dare  say  she  has.  After  all,  she's 
not  a  child  now.  And  you  know  how  unkind  people 
are — they  say  she's  simply  mad  on  getting  a  sweetheart. 
And  they  say  she  always  recommends  customers  to  take 
the  ugliest  hat  she's  got,  so  they  shan't  cut  her  out. 
She's  getting  on  for  thirty  now,  you  know." 

"  Good  !     Excellent !  "  said  Sivert,  with  satisfaction. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     209 

"  But  if  you  want  her,  take  my  advice  and  make 
haste  about  it,  while  father's  still  got  a  bit  of  money 
left.  She's  running  about  just  now  after  this  engineer 
man  that's  here  about  the  railway.  Not  for  his  looks, 
I'm  sure,  nor  his  virtue,  but  because  he's  got  a  yellow 
overcoat  with  a  strap  at  the  back  and  a  telescope 
thing  on  three  legs." 

"I'll  cut  him  out  and  every  way  surpass  him,"  said 
Sivert,  with  a  lordly  wave  of  the  hand. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  try  and  join  the 
Club,  then  ?  " 

Sivert  found  this  suggestion  excellent.  He  took 
Emanuel  along  with  him  as  a  sort  of  guide  and  interpreter. 
Bookseller  Dahlberg  entered  his  name  without  the 
slightest  objection  or  any  mention  of  conditions.  Sivert 
stood  crackling  some  notes  in  his  hand. 

"  It's  four  Kroner  a  year,"  said  Dahlberg. 

"  Then  I'd  hke  to  pay  for  three  years  in  advance," 
said  Sivert  harshly. 

"  For  three  years  ?  "  Bookseller  Dahlberg  had  a 
tuft  of  beard  on  his  under  Up  that  quivered  at  them  when 
he  spoke. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sivert  stubbornly,  in  English. 

That  summer  Sivert  was  all  but  an  autocrat  in  the 
home,  his  father  being  away  most  of  the  time  at  the 
brickworks.  The  idea  was  to  begin  operations  at  the 
earUest  possible  date,  but  it  was  soon  found  that  there 
were  various  diihculties  in  connection  with  plant  and 
material,  which  led  to  considerable  wastage  both  of 
money  and  time.  The  boiler  was  choked  with  fur,  and 
the  driving-band  of  the  engine  was  gone ;  other  machinery 
exhibited  like  defects.  There  could  be  no  possibihty 
now  of  starting  work  before  the  coming  spring.  Heaven 
be  praised,  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  credit  ! — 
14 


210     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Egholm  had  quite  considerable  credit  in  the  place  for  the 
time  being.  And  then  the  price  of  coal — simply  horrify- 
ing !  Also,  he  would  need  to  have  a  certain  sum  in 
hand  for  wages  for  the  spring. 

Oh,  it  was  not  all  delightful  to  be  a  great  man  !  But 
what  did  he  care  for  the  worry  and  toil  of  it  all  as  long 
as  Fru  van  Haag  was  pleased  with  him  ? — Fruen  with 
the  great  brown  eyes. 

It  was  a  pleasure,  indeed,  to  overcome  difficulties. 
There  was  the  question  of  a  foreman,  for  instance — he 
had  had  considerable  trouble  in  finding  one.  But 
Cornelius  Worm  took  up  the  matter,  and  procured  a  man 
who  was  willing — nay,  it  seemed,  more  than  willing — 
to  accept  the  post,  and  seemed  to  know  quite  a  lot 
about  it. 

One  decent  burning  would  set  the  whole  thing  right, 
declared  the  man.  And  he,  for  his  part,  would  be  glad 
to  take  the  faulty  bricks  which  might  be  found  in  part 
payment  of  wages.  There  were  always  a  few  faulty 
ones,  unfortunately.  That  sort  of  thing  couldn't  be 
helped. 

Egholm  found  this  quite  a  good  idea,  and  a  contract 
was  drawn  up  to  that  effect  in  the  ofi&ce  of  Cornelius 
Worm. 

Emanuel  and  his  father  went  out  to  the  brickworks 
together;  the  place  looked  very  desolate  and  unpromising, 
thought  Emanuel.  The  winter  storms  had  torn  a  number 
of  tiles  from  the  roof  of  the  kiln-house,  the  rafters  showing 
like  naked  ribs  beneath.  But  this  and  other  dilapida- 
tions were,  after  all,  but  trifles.  At  last  they  came  to 
the  pits.  Egholm  smiled  and  nodded  to  his  son,  and 
said  : 

"  There  !  You  won't  deny  that's  something  of  a 
sight !    Only  think — all  that  expanse  of  earth.  ..." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    211 

"  What  about  the  quahty  of  the  clay  ?  "  said  Emanuel, 
crumbling  a  piece  in  his  fingers. 

His  father  started  sUghtly.  "  You  bothering  about 
that,  too  ?  "  he  said.  "  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  struck 
me  at  first  it  was  pretty  poor  stuff,  but  we  don't  really 
know — thank  goodness  for  that ! — we  don't  really  know 
what's  good  and  what's  bad.  But  we  can  see  there's 
plenty  of  it  !  Lord  preserve  us  !  Why,  there  can  hardly 
be  a  bigger  deposit  anywhere  in  the  country." 

And  this  was  not  all  exaggeration.  The  half-faded 
tracks  showed  where  the  fines  of  metals  or  the  transport 
of  the  stuff  had  been  shifted  again  and  again,  towards  the 
east,  almost  up  to  the  boundary  of  the  neighbouring 
ground. 

Emanuel  stood  thoughtful  for  a  while.  Then,  with  a 
half-smile,  he  said : 

"  What  is  it  that  gets  bigger  the  more  you  take  out 
of  it  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Oh — that's  an  old 
one.     A  hole,  of  course." 

"  Exactly.  A  hole,"  said  Emanuel,  waving  one 
finger  to  indicate  the  irregular  contour  of  the  pits. 

"  You  mean — they've  got  a  lot  out  of  it  already  ? 
Well,  yes,  I  dare  say.  But  there's  plenty  left  for  us, 
you  can  be  sure,"  said  Egholm.  And  they  went  on  to 
talk  about  the  work,  and  the  various  things  to  be  done 
before  commencing  again  in  the  spring.  But  there  was 
a  touch  of  distraction  in  Egholm's  manner  at  times,  as 
if  he  were  thinking  of  something  to  himself. 

Emanuel  was  not  as  a  rule  occupied  to  any  great 
extent  with  matters  outside  his  own  personal  affairs. 
Fru  van  Haag — who  ruled,  it  seemed,  over  most  of  the 
world — had  got  him  a  situation  in  a  bank  in  a  neighbour- 
ing town.     That  was  enough  to  think  about  in  itself. 


212     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

He  would  be  going  there  to  start  work  in  a  few  days' 
time.  And  he  was  looking  forward  to  it.  It  was 
pleasant  enough,  no  doubt,  on  the  swings  and  round- 
abouts, but  wearying  in  the  long  run. 

"  Aren't  you  going  away  yourself  soon  ?  "  he  asked 
Si  vert.  But  Si  vert  shook  his  head  emphatically.  He 
did  not  find  life  dull  at  home. 

When  "  The  Club  "  had  a  picnic  in  the  woods,  he 
was  first  among  the  dancers — and  last.  He  put  on  his 
"inner  fur"  when  he  went  out,  and  his  English  "Yes"  and 
"  No  "  proved  an  attraction  to  many.  Sveidal,  the  en- 
gineer, might  be  seen  sitting  with  him  in  one  of  the  tents 
over  a  glass  of  beer.  Sivert  talked,  and  his  companions 
listened — Hr.  Sveidal  thought  of  going  to  America  him- 
self some  day. 

"  No,"  said  Sivert,  in  answer  to  Emanuel's  question. 
"  Go  away  again  ?  What  for  ?  I'm  only  just  be- 
ginning to  be  looked  up  to  here.  It's  not  hke  it  was 
in  the  old  days,  when  I  was  a  lousy  glazier's  boy.  You 
couldn't  expect  a  princess  to  look  at  anything  so  base 
and  ordinary.  No,  Minna  Lund's  my  last  aim  and  goal, 
and  I've  got  to  win  her  this  year,  before  it's  too  late." 

Emanuel  was  silent.  Sivert  was  liighly  amusing, 
no  doubt,  but  more  to  himself  than  anything  else. 
Hedvig  was  altogether  different.  Emanuel  sought 
her  counsel  when  anything  troubled  him,  and  she  gave 
immediate  answers,  sharp  and  clear,  wise  and  kindly 
enough,  but  always  with  a  certain  impatient  harshness 
towards  what  she  called  humbug,  without  defining 
precisely  what  was  referred  to. 

Emanuel  made  a  last  round  of  inspection,  visiting 
his  plants  and  birds'  nests — it  was  not  these  things  he 
was  anxious  to  leave.  He  felt  a  trifle  saddened  at  the 
thought  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  go  to  the  garden- 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     213 

party  at  Etatsraaden's.  Up  till  now  he  had  been  every 
year,  as  far  back  as  he  could  remember.  That  is  to  say, 
looking  on  from  outside  the  hedge.  But  that,  too,  was 
something. 

On  the  24th  of  July  he  left  to  take  up  his  new  post. 


XV 

ENGINEER  SVEIDAL,  after  prancing  about  in 
Knarreby  for  some  years  on  his  long  legs, 
effecting  a  sort  of  espionage,  becomes  this  year 
a  respected  resident  of  the  place  ;  he  is  having  a  house 
built  at  the  back  of  Egholm's  garden — a  small  house, 
built  of  planks  and  roofed  with  tarred  felt.  Ordinarily, 
it  might  be  termed  a  shed,  but  there  can  be  no  question 
of  calhng  it  so  in  this  case,  since  a  real  Uve  engineer  sits 
there  all  day,  directing  the  movements  of  his  workmen 
like  a  general  ordering  his  soldiers  about.  They  are 
getting  the  ground  levelled  now.  Little  white  and  red 
marking-flags  are  stuck  in  here  and  there,  and  Hr.  Sveidal 
moves  zealously  about  doing  things  with  a  measuring 
tape  and  the  interesting  telescope  thing  on  three  legs. 

The  town  looks  on,  well  pleased  with  it  all.  There 
had  been  so  much  strife  and  dissension  anent  the  site 
of  the  new  railway  station  that  it  came  as  a  relief  to 
have  the  matter  decided,  once  and  for  all,  by  a  superior 
power.  Hr.  Sveidal  had  the  entry  of  practically  all 
the  better-class  houses.  He  had  not  much  to  say  for 
himself,  but  his  yellow  coat  with  the  strap  at  the  back 
was  a  welcome  and  refreshing  innovation.  Moreover, 
he  sang,  and  that  not  a  Uttle.  He  had  begun  taking 
lessons  with  Minna  Lund  after  closing-time. 

To  tell  the  truth,  his  visits  were  not  restricted  to 
after  closing-time.  Ladies  going  in  to  try  on  a  new  hat 
might  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  yellow  sleeve  pushing  to  the 

314 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    215 

door  of  the  back  parlour  every  time  Minna  Lund  ran 
out  or  in.  Minna  herself  never  could  remember  to  shut 
doors  behind  her — it  was  an  old  habit  of  hers  from  her 
schooldays. 

Already  the  town  was  beginning  to  talk  about  an 
engagement  between  the  two.  Why  should  not  fate 
be  kind  at  last  to  Minna  Lund  ?  Three  times  for  luck, 
and  the  fourth  time  does  it.  Neither  the  schoolmaster 
nor  the  wine  merchant  nor  Cornehus  Worm  had  proved 
constant — what  more  natural,  then,  that  it  should  turn 
out  to  be  this  half-foreign  person  at  last  ? 

Who  could  forget  that  Engineer  Sveidal  had  sent 
a  wreath  of  everlasting  beech  leaves  to  Draper  Lund's 
funeral  ? 

Minna  herself  was  of  the  same  way  of  thinking. 
Why  not,  she  said  to  herself,  and  blushed  at  the  thought. 
And  from  this  time  forward  she  began  to  advise  all  young 
ladies  in  exact  contradiction  to  her  true  opinion  on  the 
matter  of  hats, 

"  All's  fair  in  love,"  she  told  herself.  The  others 
had  mothers  and  fathers  to  help  them  on,  but  what  had 
she  ? 

The  business  did  not  appear  to  suffer  in  the  least 
on  that  account.  On  the  contrary,  Minna  seemed  to 
be  making  more  than  before.  She  ran  through  the 
books  and  pounced  on  the  balance  with  a  hawk-Hke 
readiness  inherited  from  her  father.  Then  she  went  to 
the  glass,  turned  her  head  first  to  the  left  then  to  the 
right,  smoothed  out  a  single  wrinkle,  threw  a  silk  shawl 
tentatively  over  her  shoulders,  and  wrote  a  note  to  Hr. 
Sveidal  asking  him  to  dinner  on  Sunday. 

Hr.  Sveidal  accepted,  and  the  dinner  was  prepared 
accordingly.  There  were  no  other  guests,  but  the  food 
was  good  and  the  wine  plentiful. 


216     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HA  AG 

"  Such  extravagance  !  "  said  the  engineer,  as  they  sat 
over  their  coffee. 

"  Here,  you  mean  ?  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  I  could 
manage  with  less.  I  could  live  downstairs,  you  know, 
and  let  out  the  rooms  up  here.  The  dentist  would  have 
liked  to  take  them." 

"  Well,  there's  more  room  than  you  want  for  your- 
self, I  should  think.  Why  didn't  you  let  them  to  the 
dentist  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  wouldn't  for  less  than  five  years." 

"  Well,  surely  that's  all  to  your  advantage  ?  " 

"  I  want,"  said  Minna,  drawing  herself  up  in  her 
chair,  "  to  have  a  place  where  I  could  offer  my  husband 
— that  is  to  say,  I  mean,  if  ever  I  were  to  marry — offer 
him  a  home  !  " 

Minna  stammered  a  trifle,  perhaps,  but  there  was  a 
certain  energy  in  her  voice.  She  flung  her  cigarette-end 
with  a  slap  against  the  stove,  though  there  was  an  ash- 
tray within  easy  reach. 

The  engineer  sat  deep  down  in  a  low  chair,  his  knees 
sticking  up  to  such  an  extent  as  to  present  a  slight  re- 
semblance to  his  own  three-legged  telescope. 

"  And  the  business  can  stand  it  all  right,"  added 
Minna.  "  I  make  more  out  of  my  hats  than  father  did 
out  of  all  his  hundred  odd  things.  And  the  premises 
here  will  rise  in  value,  too,  as  the  town  develops.  What 
do  you  think  yourself,  Hr.  Sveidal  ?  Do  you  think 
I'm  living  beyond  my  means  ?  " 

"  I  know  I  am,"  said  the  engineer.  He  seemed 
pondering  deeply  over  something  or  other.  "  At  least, 
I'm  paying  more  than  I  ought.  Two-and-a-half  Kroner 
a  day  for  a  single  room  at  the  hotel — it's  too  much,  really, 
you  know." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Minna  warmly. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     217 

"  I  could  get  a  whole  suite  of  rooms  for  that." 

"  Yes.  .  .  ." 

"  And  here  are  all  these  rooms  of  yours  never  used 
except  a  few  hours  of  the  day.     It  seems  a  waste.  ..." 

"  It  is  a  waste,"  Minna  agreed.  "  Oh,  give  me  a 
light,  do  you  mind  ?     Thanks  so  much." 

"  And,  really,  I've  got  an  idea.  I  want  to  ask  your 
advice.  I  can't  advise  you,  you  know,  but  you  might 
help  me.  .  .  ." 

Hr.  Sveidal  took  out  his  pocket  lighter  ;  Minna  had 
been  a  trifle  too  violent  with  his  cigarette. 

"  And  that  is  .  .  ."  said  Minna  expectantly. 

Hr.  Sveidal  turned  towards  her,  with  a  gleam  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Suppose,  now,  I  was  thinking — ^if  I  were  to  set  up  a 
camp-bed  in  the  drawing-oflice  now,  just  for  the  summer, 
do  you  think — well — think  people  would  laugh  at  the 
idea  ?  " 

"  Really,  I've  no  idea,"  said  Minna  coldly.  And 
she  rose  suddenly  from  her  seat  with  such  violence 
that  her  liqueur  glass  feU  from  the  table  and  roUed  along 
the  carpet. 

"  Allow  me  !  "  The  engineer  bent  down  to  pick  it 
up.     "  It's  all  right — not  broken." 

But  Minna  laughed,  a  shrill,  harsh  laugh,  and  crushed 
the  glass  under  her  heel.  Then  she  went  over  to  the 
piano.     Hr.  Sveidal  rose  and  shambled  after  her, 

"  Of  course,  since  you  laugh  at  the  idea  yourself,"  he 
said,  "  I  understand.  But  do  me  a  favour — don't  say  a 
word  about  it  to  anyone  in  the  town.  I  never  thought 
of  doing  it,  really,  you  know.  It  was  just  an  idea  of 
mine.   .  .   ." 

Minna  sang,  and  later  allowed  Hr.  Sveidal  to  take 
his  turn.     She  wrestled  wdth  him,  forced  him  to  open  his 


218     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

mouth  to  its  widest,  and  abused  him  roundly.  But 
when  he  had  finished,  she  recovered  her  good  humour, 
and  sat  down  to  sing  herself  once  more. 

"Awfully  pretty,  that  one,"  said  Hr.  Sveidal. 

'\Do  you  think  so  ?  Yes,  it's  quite  a  touching  little 
thing,  really,"  said  Minna,  leaning  back  and  looking  up 
at  him. 

"  Touching,  yes,  that's  just  the  word.  How  does 
it  begin  now  :  something  about  a  hall  .  .  .  '  in  hall  the 
rest  are  sleeping  .  ,  .'  " 

Minna  laughed  again  harshly  as  before. 

"  Hall  ?  Whatever  are  you  talking  about  ?  '  When 
all  the  rest  are  sleeping — my  heart  goes  out  to  you.'  And 
you  didn't  even  understand  a  word  of  it.  Oh,  how  like 
a  man  !  " 

Sveidal  apologised.  He  Uked  the  song  awfully,  he 
said,  and  wrote  out  the  words  in  his  notebook  from 
Minna's  dictation.  She  promised  to  teach  him  it  some 
day. 

They  sat  chatting  pleasantly  for  a  little  while  ;  then 
Hr.  Sveidal  regretted  he  must  be  going. 

"  Going  ?  "  said  Minna  in  astonishment.  "  Why, 
it's  only  nine  o'clock.     We've  hardly  had  our  meal." 

Unfortunately,  the  engineer  had  a  most  important 
letter  to  write — simply  couldn't  put  it  off.  And  he 
frowned  as  one  burdened  with  weighty  duties. 

"  But  you  can  write  it  here." 

No,  sorry,  but  he  couldn't.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
it  wasn't  the  letter  so  much,  but  the  stamp.  Now, 
where  could  he  get  a  stamp  on  a  Sunday  evening  ?  He 
would  have  to  go  round  and  try  to  borrow  one  some- 
where. 

"  I've  got  stamps,"  said  Minna,  with  a  smile. 
"  Downstairs  in  the  shop.     I'll  get  you  one.  .  .  ." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     219 

"  Oh,  thanks  ever  so — but  there's  no  hurry.  It  can 
wait  till  I  go." 

"  All  right,  as  you  Uke.  I  always  buy  them  by  the 
sheet,  you  know.  Father  always  used  to.  Just  as  well 
to  get  the  reduction  while  you're  about  it." 

"  Fine  man,  your  father,"  said  Sveidal,  glancing  up 
involuntarily  to  the  picture  of  Lund  above  the  door. 
"  What  is  that  uniform  he's  taken  in,  by  the  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  when  he  got  the  championship  in  the 
shooting-club.  Yes,  I  dare  say  he  was  clever  in  some 
ways,  but  he  was  always  mixing  himself  up  in  things 
he'd  better  have  left  alone.  That  shooting-club,  now. 
It  cost  him  a  couple  of  hundred  Kroner,  that  champion- 
ship, and  d'you  think  it  ever  did  the  business  any  good  ? 
Not  the  price  of  a  sour  herring  !  " 

"  What  did  your  father  die  of,  if  it's  not  rude  to  ask  ?  " 

"  He  died  of  just  that  same  silly  habit — taking  up 
all  sorts  of  things  that  didn't  concern  him.  Thought 
it  was  business — but  it  wasn't.  He  was  mad  on  this 
tourist  project,  you  know.  Making  Knarreby  a  show 
place,  and  brightening  up  trade.  But  there  never  came 
a  single  tourist  after  all,  and  he'd  laid  in  a  huge  stock 
of  bathing-dresses  and  towels  and  things.  Then  one 
day  he  went  off  himself  with  a  great  big  red-striped  bath- 
towel  over  his  shoulder  to  have  a  bathe — the  first  time 
he'd  ever  done  such  a  thing  in  his  hfe.  Thought  he'd 
set  the  fashion,  you  understand,  and  make  the  place 
a  seaside  resort.  Next  day  he  was  down  with  inflam- 
mation of  the  lungs,  and  that  finished  him.  That 
wreath  of  yours  was  simply  lovely,  Hr.  Sveidal.  Every- 
body said  so.     And  it  kept  such  a  long  time,  too." 

Sveidal  stroked  his  chin  and  said  it  was  really 
nothing,  nothing  at  all.  But  Minna  hauled  forth  the 
locket  on  her  watch-chain  and  showed  him  two  red 


220     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

beech  leaves  inside.  "  Yes  .  .  ."  she  said,  with  great 
expression.  After  that  she  got  the  engineer  out  into 
the  kitchen  to  boil  some  water  for  claret  punch  ;  she 
had  sent  the  maid  home  directly  after  dinner,  Minna 
herself  looked  neat  and  attractive  enough  among  the 
kitchen  things — with  the  result  that  Hr.  Sveidal  kissed 
her  once  or  twice  before  the  water  boiled. 

They  took  their  cordial  at  a  Uttle  table  in  front  of 
the  big  sofa,  sitting  quite  close  together.  But  there 
was  no  more  kissing.  The  engineer  seemed  if  possible 
even  more  silent  than  before,  and  even  lankier  ;  his 
knees  stuck  up  Uke  sharp,  unscaleable  peaks  in  front 
of  him.  Minna  tried  going  out  into  the  kitchen  again 
for  some  more  sugar,  and  got  him  to  go  with  her,  but 
even  that  failed  of  its  effect.  Not  till  she  led  the  con- 
versation once  more  round  to  his  work  did  he  grow  a 
trifle  brighter.  He  was  expecting  a  new  machine  one 
of  these  days,  a  concrete  mixer.  Possibly  two,  he  ex- 
plained, and  his  voice  grew  hoarser  as  he  spoke.  Yes, 
he  was  in  charge  of  the  whole  thing — nobody  over  him, 
no.  In  a  few  days'  time  he  would  have  all  Egholm's 
poplars  cut  down,  and  the  whole  of  the  garden  carted 
away.  For  the  Egholms  had  only  rented  the  house, 
and  that  only  till  such  time  as  he,  Sveidal,  demanded 
its  evacuation  and  demohshment. 

Minna  nodded  admiringly. 

Though,  of  course,  Egholm  was  a  decent  sort  ;  Hr. 
Sveidal  would  not  think  of  troubhng  him  out  of  any  ill- 
will.  The  house  might  be  left  as  it  was  for  six  months 
or  so  yet — and  for  the  matter  of  that,  the  trees  and 
garden  too.  He,  Sveidal,  would  see  what  could  be  done 
about  it. 

Minna  nodded  even  more  admiringly. 

Engineer  Sveidal  was  touched  by  all  this  admira- 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     221 

tion.  He  went  on  to  say  that  a  man  like  Egholm  was  a 
man  one  ought  to  help  as  far  as  possible — instead  of 
taking  advantage  of  him,  as  Cornelius  Worm  the  lawyer 
had  done. 

"  What's  Cornehus  Worm  done  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  know  ?  Why,  he's  got  him  to  buy 
a  brickworks  that's  nothing  left  of  it  but  a  gravel 
pit  !  " 

"  Just  the  sort  of  thing  that  fellow  would  do," 
said  Minna,  with  clenched  teeth.  "  He  always  was  a 
scoundrel." 

"  Yes — and  he  goes  about  boasting  of  it  down  at 
the  hotel." 

"  You'd  never  do  a  thing  Uke  that,  /  know,"  said 
Minna,  touching  his  glass  Hghtly  with  her  own. 

It  was  getting  late  now,  and  Hr.  Sveidal  took  his 
leave,  with  many  thanks  for  a  pleasant  evening.  Minna 
insisted  on  showing  him  down  the  stairs,  and  the  stair- 
way being  dark,  she  put  one  arm  round  his  neck  to  save 
herself  from  falUng. 

It  was  a  fine,  calm  summer  night  outside. 

"  Isn't  that  some  one  standing  by  the  fence  over 
there  ?  "  said  Sveidal. 

"  No — it's  only  the  shadow." 

But  the  shadow  moved  as  she  spoke,  and  stole 
quietly  away.  The  hght  from  the  window  above  fell 
across  its  path,  and  Minna  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh — yes,  it  is.  It's  Sivert  Egholm.  He's  always 
hanging  about  here,  day  and  night." 

"  Egholm's  son— the  one  that's  been  to  America  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  he's  think- 
ing of." 

"  Ah !  You're  not  particularly  taken  with  him 
yourself,  then  ?  " 


222     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  I  ?     Good  heavens,  no.     What  an  idea  !  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  He  seems  quite  a  decent 
sort.  I  see  him  almost  every  day — I've  talked  to  him 
a  good  deal.  He's  seen  no  end  of  things  over  there,  you 
know.  And  he's  fond  of  music,  too — singing.  I  fancy 
he  said  something  about  taking  lessons  with  you, 
Froken  Lund." 

"  With  me  ?  Not  if  I  know  it.  No,  if  I'm  to  have 
gentlemen  pupils,  they  must  be  fine  upstanding  men 
that  look  a  bit  smart — not  a  Uttle  idiot  hke  that." 

Perhaps  by  way  of  showing  what  she  expected  of 
her  fine  upstanding  pupils,  Minna  threw  her  other  arm 
round  Hr.  Sveidal's  neck,  and  drew  his  head  down 
towards  her. 

"  Thanks,  delightful  evening,"  he  gasped,  a  little 
out  of  breath.  "  But — about  that  stamp.  If  it's  not 
troubling  you.  .  .  .  Only  one — ten  0re,  And  an 
envelope,  if  you  have  one." 

"  A  big  one,  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Minna,  going  into 
the  shop. 

"  It's  all  the  same,  as  long  as  it's  an  envelope.  I've 
paper  myself." 

"  Does  it  matter  if  my  name's  on  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  .  .  .  No,  I'm  afraid  that  won't  do.  No.  But 
it  doesn't  matter,  really." 

"  Here's  one."  -^ 

"  Thanks,  thanks  ever  so  much." 

"  Sveidal,  would  you  hke  to  do  me  a  favour  in 
return  ?  Will  you  ?  Take  me  with  you  to  the  garden- 
party  at  Etatsraaden's  next  month  ?  " 

"  I'd  be  dehghted.  But  they  haven't  asked  me,  I'm 
sorry  to  say." 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  Sveidal — then  that's  a  bargain. 
For  they're  going  to  ask  you — I  happen  to  know.     And 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     223 

they  always  send  out  the  invitations  with  '  and  lady.' 
Oh,  won't  it  be  lovely  !  " 

With  this  they  parted.  The  engineer  went  shambUng 
off  at  his  lanky  stride  down  the  street.  He  did  not  go 
straight  back  to  the  hotel,  but  turned  in  through 
Stationsvej.  He  had  to  get  that  letter  off  by  the  night 
train. 

A  little  way  along  he  came  up  with  Sivert,  and  the 
two  joined  company. 

"  I'd  got  such  a  beastly  goddam  toothache,"  said 
Sivert,  "  so  I  got  up  and  went  out." 

"  Weren't  you  standing  down  there  a  little  while 
back  outside  Frk.  Lund's  ?  " 

"  Did  you  see  me  ?  "  whispered  Sivert. 

"  No,  I  didn't.     But  Fr0ken  Lund  said  it  was  you." 

"  Oh,  well,  must  be  somewhere,  you  know.  And  I 
thought  perhaps  a  little  pretty  song  might  ease  the 
pain.  And  so  Minna  saw  me  ?  More  than  I'd  dared 
to  hope.     She  didn't  say  anything  about  me,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  word." 

"  No,  of  course  not — she's  very  good  that  way." 

"  Well,  I  said  you  were  fond  of  music,  and  then  she 
said  she'd  like  to  have  you  for  a  pupil," 

Sivert  all  but  collapsed  under  the  weight  of  this 
astonishing  announcement.  Then  a  moment  later  he 
leaped  up  in  the  air,  waved  both  arms  wildly,  and  said, 
with  a  hoarse  laugh  : 

"  Heavens  above  !  All  the  world  shall  hear  my 
voice  !  And  she's  going  to  give  me  lessons  herself  ! 
You're  sure  it's  singing-lessons  she  meant  ?  Not  lessons 
in  milUnery,  for  instance  ?     No,  no,  of  course.  .  .  ." 

Sivert  rattled  on  unceasingly  ;  now  and  again  the 
engineer  broke  in  with  a  short  laugh.  He  found  it  all 
very  am.using,  but  he  was  altogether  incapable  of  judging 


224     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

character.  Lawyer  Worm  was  a  swindler,  for  he  had 
said  so  himself.  But,  otherwise,  everybody  was  nice 
and  kind  and  all  alike. 

"  I'm  going  up  to  the  station,"  said  Sveidal. 

"  I'll  go  with  you.  Couldn't  think  of  going  to  bed 
again  after  this.  Do  you  know,  I've  been  standing 
there  four  soHd  hours  by  her  fence  to-night,  in  the 
hopes  of  hearing  her  delicious  waiUng  ?  Yes,  I'll  go 
and  have  a  lesson  this  very  night." 

Sveidal  took  out  his  notebook,  tore  out  two  pages, 
and  put  them  in  the  envelope.  Then  he  wrote  the 
address  in  his  childish  hand :  "  Frk.  Emmy  Meyer, 
Falkoneralle  38,  Copenhagen." 

He  went  out  on  to  the  platform  and  put  the  letter 
in  the  box.  And  thus  it  came  about  that  Minna  Lund's 
song  went  fluttering  farther  abroad  than  she  had  thought. 


XVI 

THE  17th  of  August  comes  round — the  great  day 
for  Knarreby,  the  day  of  Etatsraaden's  garden- 
party.  It  looks,  moreover,  as  if  it  will  be  a 
bigger  affair  this  year  than  ever  before.  There  are 
rumours  as  to  the  purchase  of  enormous  quantities 
of  paper  lanterns,  of  pastries  on  an  unprecedented 
scale. 

Emanuel  came  home  by  the  midday  train — he  had 
got  leave  from  the  office  specially  to  enjoy  a  treat  that 
had  been  his  since  he  was  a  child.  He  had  some  cuttings 
with  him,  for  his  mother,  from  the  Bank  Manager's 
drooping  fuchsia — stolen  cuttings  they  were,  and  could 
not  possibly  fail  to  grow.  She  was  pleased  and  grateful 
for  the  gift,  but  said  that  he  and  Sivert  would  have  to 
go  alone  to  watch  the  fete  in  the  evening,  for  their  father 
was  not  at  all  in  the  mood  for  that  sort  of  thing.  He 
was  always  tearing  out  to  the  brickworks  now,  and 
coming  back  with  wrinkles  many  and  deep  in  his 
forehead.  The  bundle  of  notes  had  dwindled  to  the 
thickness  of  a  thin  slice  of  bread,  and  it  was  Httle 
consolation  that  the  bills  unpaid  had  in  the  same  time 
mounted  up  to  a  pile  beyond  the  span  of  any  ordinary 
jaws. 

"  All  the  more  reason  for  him  to  come  ;  cheer  him 
up,"  said  Emanuel. 

"  Well,  well,  you'd  better  ask  him  yourself,  dear." 

Emanuel  asked  after  his  brother.  Fru  Egholm 
15 


226    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

reported  evasively  that  Sivcrt  seemed  delighted  beyond 
measure  at  something  or  other  these  days  ;  he  had  got 
himself  new  collars  and  a  new  black  bowler  hat — a 
trifle  too  big  for  him,  she  thought — and  then  to-day  he 
had  been  out  and  had  his  photo  taken.  Not  by  father, 
no — who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  !  He  had  actually 
gone  to  the  new  fellow,  Eiermann,  who  had  started  a 
smart  little  business  in  the  same  Une.  And  the  night 
before  he  had  been  to  an  open  -  air  dance  out  in 
Kongeskoven. 

"  Oh,  he  must  be  mad  !  "  said  Emanuel. 

"  Ah,  we  mustn't  forget  he's  used  to  bigger  things 
over  there,"  said  his  mother  deprecatingly. 

A  thunderstorm  was  gathering  over  the  town,  with 
heavy  showers,  which  drove  first  Sivert,  then  his  father, 
home. 

"  Where've  you  been  ?  "  asked  Emanuel  as  Sivert 
came  in. 

"  Out  with  Sveidal.  We  go  about  together  all  day 
now.  I  tell  him  all  about  my  adventures,  how  I  was 
husking  corn  in  the  West,  and  got  hoisted  up  to  the  roof 
all  naked,  with  a  woman  looking  on.  How  I  killed 
Nigger  Jim,  and  how  my  own  eyes  have  glittered  over 
the  Niagara  Falls.  I  was  beastly  sick  there,  too.  Come 
over  there  with  me,  and  I'll  show  you  the  very  spot — ■ 
between  two  rocks.  Then  you  can  see  the  great  big 
waterfall  at  the  same  time." 

"  Is  that  what  you  do  all  day,  then  ?  " 

"  Ah,  but  I  don't  do  it  for  nothing.  Sveidal  he  invites 
me  to  Minna  Lund's  in  return.  She  thinks  me  charming 
already,  and  wants  me  to  teach  her  singing  !  " 

Egholm  had  been  out  at  the  brickworks.  He 
livened  up  at  once  on  hearing  it  was  the  day  of  the 
garden  fete. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     227 

"  We  must  go  and  have  a  look,"  he  said.  And 
standing  in  front  of  the  glass,  he  began  pulling  grey 
hairs  out  of  his  beard. 

"  And  they  say,"  put  in  Fru  Egholm,  "  there's  to  be 
fireworks  or  something  wonderful  extra  this  evening, 
because  of  being  a  jubilee  of  some  sort." 

At  half -past  seven  the  family  set  out,  walking 
down  over  the  fields  by  the  beach.  The  rain  had 
ceased  ;  the  whole  of  the  western  sky  was  red.  A 
rich  salt  smell  breathed  out  from  the  water  and 
the  banks  of  wet  weed  along  the  shore.  Busy 
little  waves  were  hurr3dng  home  to  bed.  Now  and 
again  Emanuel  picked  up  a  fiat  stone,  weighed  it 
critically  in  his  hand,  and  sent  it  fi3ang  like  a  freed 
bird  out  over  the  water,  touching  the  surface  far  out 
with  tiny  feet — once — twice — many  times  in  succes- 
sion. 

"  Ah,"  said  Sivert,  "  you're  a  marvel  without  com- 
pare. A  perfect  Croesus  at  all  manner  of  stone-throwing 
tricks." 

Emanuel  went  on  with  his  ducks  and  drakes  un- 
heeding. 

Sivert  began  again  : 

"  You're  a  wonder,  yes,  but  ..." 

Emanuel  looked  up ;  he  had  been  waiting  for  some- 
thing to  follow,  and  it  interested  him  moi?  than  the 
praise  that  went  before  it. 

"  But,"  said  Sivert,  with  a  dreamy  laugh,  "  Fve  out- 
Croesed  you  last  night,  my  son." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Last  night  I  gained  the  victory  over  Minna  Lund 
and  her  love — and  to-day  Fve  had  my  photo  taken  in  a 
highly  remarkable  pose." 

"  Did  you  really  dance  with  her  last  night  ?  " 


228    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Did  I  not  1  Wliy,  she  had  her  arm  round  my 
collar  nearly  all  the  evening  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  of  that  stuff," 
said  Emanuel,  turning  away  to  pick  up  a  new  stone. 

Then  said  Sivert,  with  a  sigh  : 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  it  was  my  fixed 
intention  to  dance  with  her,  and  propose  to  her  as  well. 
But  when  she  came  prancing  up  with  that  engineer 
fellow,  why,  I  changed  my  mind  to  something  else — and 
something  a  great  deal  better  1  " 

"  Went  home,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But,  first  of  all,  I  stood  and  regarded  her 
critically  with  averted  head  for  five  minutes  at  least. 
And  then  I  went — went,  without  heeding  my  ticket  that 
I'd  paid  for  and  hardly  used  at  all.  And  now  I've 
furthermore  sacrificed  five  Kroner  on  a  dozen  photo- 
graphs of  myself — all  for  her." 

"  But — you  don't  mean  to  say  Eiermann  takes 
five  Kroner  the  dozen  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  one  Krone  extra  for  sticking  me  up  in  the 
show-case  outside.  And  there  I'll  be  like  a  portent  and 
a  warning  to  remind  her  of  me.  Eiermann's  show-case 
is  just  opposite  her  window." 

Emanuel  laughed,  and  went  on  throwing  stones. 
Then  he  walked  on  sedately  for  a  while,  but,  catching 
sight  of  a  sea-urchin  newly  washed  up  among  the  weed, 
he  picked  it  up,  from  force  of  boyish  habit,  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket. 

"  What  do  you  want  that  for  ?  " 
Emanuel  was  embarrassed  ;  he  could  hardly  say 
himself  what  a  bank  clerk  could  possibly  want  with  a 
sea-urchin.  And,  by  way  of  excusing  himself,  he  tried 
to  make  out  that  his  find  was  something  of  exceptional 
rarity  and  value. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     229 

"  And  perhaps  I'll  present  it  to  some  museum.  Look 
at  the  way  these  spines  are  arranged,now — all  in  a  pattern. 
And  its  eyes  are  all  here  on  the  underside." 

"  Funny  place  to  put  them.     Nasty,  I  call  it." 

"  Ah,  but  it's  just  that  that  makes  it  a  curiosity." 

"  Oh,  all  right.  You  can  keep  your  curiosities  for  me. 
But  that's  just  the  sort  of  thing  people  like,  I  suppose. 
Something  out  of  the  ordinary.  A  yellow  coat  with  a 
strap  at  the  back,  and  a  telescope  thing  on  three  legs. 
But  when  I'm  stuck  up  in  the  show-case,  photographed 
in  a  curiously  mournful  pose  and  woeful  look,  I'll  get  her 
to  screw  her  eyes  round  the  right  way.  My  way. 
You  wait  and  see." 

The  two  elders,  walking  on  ahead,  stopped  and 
beckoned.  From  where  they  stood,  they  could  see  right 
up  the  slope  into  Etatsraaden's  garden.  There  were 
a  few  spectators  gathered  here  already,  but  these  were 
persons  of  no  consideration  whatever ;  the  better 
class  began  farther  up,  towards  Stationsvejen,  where  one 
could  look  right  across  the  lawn  to  the  brilliantly  lighted 
house. 

Two  men  with  folding  ladders  were  moving  down  the 
garden  paths,  Hghting  the  coloured  lanterns. 

The  Egholms  joined  up  in  silence  with  the  low  ranks 
of  people  already  assembled,  resting  their  hands  on  the 
fencing  and  waiting  patiently  for  something  to  happen. 
The  dark  was  growing  denser  now  ;  out  across  the  Belt, 
the  red  sky  had  changed  to  a  deep  dark  blue. 

"  Look — just  Hke  a  ship,"  said  Fru  Egholm. 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  The  mansion  there — I  mean  the  house.  Sailing 
towards  us  with  all  the  lights.  .  .   ." 

Egholm  could  see  it,  yes.  He  stood  there  long, 
watching  it  sail,  and  enjoying  the  idea.     When  he  closed 


230     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

his  eyes  and  opened  them  again,  he  could  fancy  it  had 
come  closer. 

Now  they  would  be  sitting  down  to  table,  no 
doubt.  Only  the  women  and  girls  waiting  on  the 
guests  could  be  seen  now  and  again  as  they  flitted  past 
the  windows,  generally  envied  by  those  watching  from 
without. 

Ah,  now  they  were  singing  !  The  watchers  hummed 
the  refrain  :  "  And  this  is  to  greet  ..."  with  a  feehng 
as  if  it  made  them  in  some  way  partakers  in  the  feast. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  noise  of  chairs  being  pushed  back 
and  the  guests  returning  thanks  to  host  and  hostess. 
At  the  same  moment  the  verandah  doors  were  thrown 
open,  and  cries  of  delight  were  heard  at  sight  of  the  garden 
walks  dotted  all  round  with  specks  of  fire  in  red  and  yellow, 
green  and  blue,  as  if  some  lucky  spider  had  been  spinning 
its  glistening  dew-pearled  web  over  Etatsraaden's  garden 
and  all  that  was  his. 

The  first  couple  swept  down  the  steps  along  the 
gravel  paths  and  down  over  the  daintily  close-cropped 
lawns.  Young  voices  sounded  from  under  the  trees. 
One  of  the  gentlemen  took  down  a  paper  lantern,  picking 
it  hke  a  fruit  from  its  branch,  and  all  the  ladies  came 
up  to  fight  their  cigarettes  by  it. 

The  broad  walk  led  away  to  the  right,  marked  out 
with  hundreds  of  light-buoys  so  that  none  should  get 
out  of  their  course.  Nevertheless,  it  happened  that 
first  a  tall,  somewhat  stooping  figure  of  a  man,  and 
later,  a  woman,  tall  and  upright  in  a  pink  dress,  turned 
off  the  wrong  way — to  the  left — and  moved  away  into 
the  dark,  both  moving  more  rapidly  than  any  of  the 
others. 

"  Did  you  see  them  ?  "  whispered  Si  vert. 

"  Them  ?     Who  ?  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     231 

"  Minna  and  that  Sveidal.  Creeping  off  in  the  dark. 
Rather  smart  of  them — what  ?  " 

"  Very  good  idea,  no  doubt,"  said  Emanuel. 

"  Ah — confess  now,  you  thought  it'd  make  me  wild  !  " 
said  Si  vert,  nudging  his  brother  in  the  ribs.  "  Confess 
it  !  But  there's  nobody  in  the  world  knows  the  mysteri- 
ous workings  of  my  mind.  Yes,  I  reckon  it  out  like 
this  :  the  engineer  fellow's  all  right  to  wake  up  a  so- 
called  affection  in  her  breast,  but  when  the  right  time 
comes,  she'll  turn  it  all  over  to  me.  She's  incHned  to 
favour  him  just  now,  by  reason  of  his  railway-engineer- 
ing-telescope thing  ;  but  suppose  I  was  built  differently, 
now,  say  with  my  eyes  all  round  on  the  underside, 
like  that  creature  you  picked  up  just  now,  why,  then,  / 
should  be  a  rarity,  and  she'd  take  me  on  the  spot.  But 
I'm  not  going  to.  I  know  well  enough  I'm  rare  as  it  is, 
both  inside  and  out.  And  I'll  keep  my  eyes  where 
they  are,  spread  round  my  forehead  in  the  old-fashioned 
style,  as  you'll  be  able  to  see  very  soon  in  a  gold-lined 
show-case  outside  Eiermann's." 

The  time  for  the  fireworks  had  arrived,  and  the 
guests  were  gathering  in  front  of  the  house  ready  to 
march  down  in  couples  to  the  open  space  by  the 
beach. 

Nicolaysen  the  wheelwright — and  incidentally  leader 
of  the  orchestra — having  feasted  with  his  musicians  on 
the  crumbs  from  Etatsraaden's  table,  came  out  on  the 
balcony  and  sounded  the  assembly. 

The  watchers  by  the  hedge  shifted  their  feet  ;  their 
eyes  glowed  in  the  dark  hke  the  eyes  of  wild  beasts 
about  a  white  man's  camp-fire. 

Then  the  many-coloured  serpent  moved  off.  It 
would  pass  close  up  to  the  hedge — and  this  was  the 
most  exciting  moment  for  the  many  there  assembled. 


232     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

Those  of  a  modest  temperament  drew  back  a  little  ; 
others,  who  year  after  year  had  watched  from  the  same 
gaps  in  the  hedge,  did  not  move.  They  looked  at  the 
ladies,  and  they  looked  at  the  gentlemen.  Some  of  the 
latter  bore  witness  by  their  gait  to  the  excellence  of 
Etatsraaden's  cellar.  The  young  men  tore  off  green 
leaves  and  "  popped  "  them  between  their  hands.  One 
could  be  seen  drawing  the  figure  of  a  heart  in  the  air 
with  the  glowing  end  of  his  cigar. 

Here  was  Rothe  with  Fru  Weisz,  his  arm  round  her 
waist.  And  there  was  Minna  with  her  engineer,  the  two 
leaning  inward,  each  towards  the  other,  so  that  either 
would  have  fallen  had  the  one  been  suddenly  removed. 

Sivert  whispered  : 

"  Look  there— all's  going  just  as  I  could  wish.  She'll 
soon  be  ripe  for  me,  now  !  " 

A  httle  behind  the  rest  came  Fru  van  Haag,  with 
Etatsraaden  himself. 

The  Egholms  were  among  those  who  had  drawn 
back  a  httle  when  the  procession  began,  but  Egholm 
had  involuntarily  taken  off  his  hat,  and  his  bald  pate 
being  conspicuous  in  any  sort  of  hght,  Fruen  perceived 
him,  all  the  same.  She  judged  that  his  wife  must  be 
there  too,  and  waved  her  white  hand  till  the  shawl 
sUpped  from  her  shoulders.  She  even  stood  still  and 
called  softly,  "  Good  evening.  Little  Mother  !  " 

There  was  never  any  saying  what  Fruen  might  or 
might  not  do. 

Fru  Egholm  blushed  and  curtseyed  out  in  the  dark  ; 
then  an  idea  occurred  to  her.  She  nudged  Sivert  from 
behind,  and  said  eagerly  : 

"  Go  up  and  say  your  '  No  '  and  '  Yes  '  in  English." 

"  Augh  I  Let  me  alone,"  said  Sivert,  and  sprang 
aside. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     233 

Meantime,  Fru  van  Haag  had  passed  on. 

There  was  a  moment  of  expectant  silence  all  round. 
Big  furry  moths  could  be  seen  blundering  against  the 
lanterns.  A  railway  engine  whistled  somewhere  in  the 
distance.  Then  the  first  of  the  maroons  went  off,  and 
a  terrified  blackbird  shrieked  in  answer. 

A  murmur  of  admiring  wonder  from  the  spectators  ; 
rockets  were  sending  up  swift -growing  orchids  to  bloom 
against  the  depth  of  the  sky.  Catherine-wheels  whirled 
round,  and  sheaves  of  golden  fire  burned  here  and  there  ; 
now  came  a  roar,  and  another,  then  the  fierce,  exciting 
hiss  of  soaring  rockets  again. 

"  Ah,  this  is  something  like  a  fete,"  said 
Egholm,  and  lapsed  into  a  silence  of  concentrated 
feeling. 

Fru  Egholm's  eyes  ghttered.  Oh,  it  was  lovely, 
lovely  I 

Some  of  the  spectators  got  beyond  control ;  they 
broke  through  the  hedge  and  trampled  on  a  flower-bed 
where  a  rocket  had  been  seen  to  fall. 

The  Egholms  walked  home  along  Stationsvej,  the 
head  of  the  family  leading,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground.  A  Uttle  behind  their  parents  trailed  the  two 
brothers  together. 

"  Oh,  hell  and  all,"  moaned  Sivert  ;  "  why  didn't 
I  go  up  and  say  '  No  '  and  '  Yes  '  as  mother  said  ?  It 
would  have  helped  me  on  more  than  a  thousand  dollars 
if  I  had." 

"  No  and  yes  ?  "   said  Emanuel,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  or  '  Have  a  drink,'  or  any  other  httle  motto 
Kke  that.  Why  didn't  I  do  it  ?  I  might  have  crept 
through  the  hedge  and  gone  after  them  in  the  dark — 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  anybody  ;  I  might  have 
got  up  to  where  Minna  was  herself  !  " 


234     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  You're  pretty  badly  in  love,"  said  Emanuel. 

Sivert  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  in  love  with  her — it's  not  exactly  that  so 
much.  It's  more  a  sort  of  galloping  consumption — 
galloping  after  her,  you  understand.  She's  getting  a 
bit  faded  now,  and  there's  no  time  to  lose.  But  I  can 
remember  her  when  her  cheeks  were  as  red  and  round 
as  the  backside  of  an  angel." 

Emanuel  ruminated  for  a  moment  over  this  mixture 
of  sense  and  lunacy.  Then,  with  unfeigned  interest,  he 
said  : 

"  How  on  earth  do  you  manage  to  know  exactly  how 
things  are,  and  yet  play  the  goat  like  you  do  about  it, 
as  if  .  .  ." 

Sivert  interrupted  him. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  It's  due  entirely  to  my 
remarkable  inner  qualities.  I  know  exactly  how  things 
come  about  in  the  world.  I  know  the  old  man,  for 
instance,  will  be  bankrupt  before  this  year's  out.  Ask 
me  anything  you  like,  and  I'll  tell  you  !  " 

He  raised  his  arms  in  a  prophetic  gesture,  and 
went  on  : 

"  I  say  unto  you — I — yes,  and  you  too,  seeing  you're 
my  brother — we're  the  strangest  people  on  earth. 
We're  not  like  others — we're  better.  We  shall  be 
famous  throughout  the  world  one  day,  you  and  I. 
We're  the  only  people  in  the  world  that  can  think  thoughts 
they  don't  understand  themselves  !  Before  the  old  man's 
tumbled  in  the  ditch,  you'll  see  Minna  Lund  groaning 
at  my  feet.  Thus  I  prophesy  before  you,  and  thus  is 
my  unalterable  will  that's  not  to  be  shaken.  More 
especially  after  going  to  the  photographer's  to-day, 
head  up,  arms  down,  and  paying  him  four  Kroner  plus 
one  extra  for  hanging  me  outside." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     235 

"  It'll  be  some  time  yet  before  your  wedding,"  said 
Emanuel. 

On  the  following  day  Emanuel  went  back  to  his 
work  in  the  bank.  He  felt  something  hke  longing  for 
the  long,  dry  columns  of  figures. 

Three  weeks  passed  before  he  began  thinking 
vaguely  once  more  about  a  trip  home.  And  then  came 
a  letter — one  of  his  mother's  well-known  epistles,  sealed 
with  a  thimble  on  the  back.  It  seemed  a  trifle  thicker 
than  usual.  He  opened  it,  and  found  eight  closely 
written  pages,  which  set  his  mind  in  the  greatest  ex- 
citement. Now  he  laughed  wildly ;  now  he  sank  into 
deep  meditation  ;  now  he  flung  the  letter  down  furiously, 
only  to  pick  it  up  a  moment  after  and  read  on  with 
staring  eyes. 

This  is  what  it  said  : 

"  My  own  dearest  Boy, — I  half  expected  to  see 
you  over  here  last  Sunday,  but  as  you  didn't  come,  I 
must  write  and  tell  you  the  great  glad  news  :  that  our 
own  Si  vert  is  now  really  and  truly  engaged  to  Minna. 
Hearty  congratulations  and  thanks  to  God  for  your 
brother,  my  dear  boy.  We  should  go  down  on  our 
knees  and  give  thanks  for  this  great  joy  and  exaltation. 
I  almost  felt  I  could  hardly  talk  to  him  like  his  own 
mother  the  first  day  after.  For  it  does  seem  a  great 
thing,  really,  and  a  thousand  times  greater  than  seven 
brickworks  that  do  more  harm  than  good.  For  that's 
what  it  is.  Father's  lost  his  colour  dreadfully  of  late, 
and  they're  always  coming  along  to  him  with  biUs  for 
this  and  that,  and  he's  hardly  any  money  to  pay  with. 
He  doesn't  bother  about  his  own  business  now,  and 
the  money  in  the  string's  nearly  all  gone.     And  it's 


236    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

all  because  of  the  miserable  brickworks  too  that  we've 
got  this  daddy-long-legs  of  an  engineer  tramping  about 
my  garden.  But  God's  always  gracious  all  the  same, 
as  we  can  see  with  Minna  and  Sivert  now.  She  hasn't 
been  here  yet,  but  she's  coming  soon,  she  says.  I  wish 
it  would  be  Sunday,  and  you  were  home  to  brighten 
things  up  too.  Do  write  if  you  can  come,  then  I'll  ask 
Sivert  to  talk  to  her  and  get  her  to  make  it  Sunday,  for 
he's  great  influence  with  her,  I  know.  He  goes  there 
nearly  every  day,  and  they've  got  a  special  hcence,  so 
they  can  be  married  soon — and  Heaven  bless  the  happy 
pair.  Truly  we've  much  to  be  thankful  for,  and  the  evil 
as  well  as  the  good.  Even  for  that  miserable  spectre  of 
an  engineer  that  tramples  down  my  ferns  and  roses,  we 
should  give  thanks  for  it  all.  For  after  all  it  was  really 
him  that  got  Sivert  his  Minna  and  so  much  joy  to  us 
all.  For  that  night  at  Etatsraaden's  he  got  up  on  a 
chair — having  turned  a  bit  lively  after  it  all,  and  only 
natural — and  announced  he  was  engaged  to  somebody 
in  Copenhagen.  And  Minna  had  convulsions  and  had 
to  be  taken  home,  but  the  day  after  she  wrote  to 
Sivert,  and  now  they're  engaged,  and  thanks  be  to 
God  for  the  engineer  and  the  convulsions  too.  She'll 
be  happy  enough  with  him,  I  know,  when  she  gets  to 
know  him.  And  that  she's  a  good  girl  I'm  sure,  from 
everything  she  does.  There's  a  whole  lot  of  boxes  of 
things,  now,  she's  got  up  in  the  loft  there,  from  the  time 
when  they  had  the  drapery  business,  and  she  lets  him 
take  what  he  hkes.  And  I  do  call  that  really  nice  of 
her,  now,  though  the  collars  and  things  are  a  bit  ample, 
perhaps,  having  thought  at  first  of  somebody  else  that's 
more  in  the  lanky  superior  way  than  our  own  dear 
boy. 

"So  do  come,  now,  and  go  for  a  walk  with  them 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     237 

through  the  town,  or  perhaps  in  somewhere  for  a  cup  of 
coffee,  or  whatever's  the  proper  thing  for  people  of  your 
sort.  You  needn't  be  here  in  the  house,  of  course,  more 
than  just  a  minute  or  so. 

"  And  now  to  conclude,  best  love  from  us  all.  The 
cactus  with  the  white  hair's  got  a  young  one  now.  But 
first  of  all,  of  course,  do  remember  to  be  perfectly  serious 
all  the  time  and  not  a  sign  of  anything  else.  For  it 
would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame  to  let  them  see  it  any  other 
way. — Your  loving  Mother." 

Emanuel's  feeling,  after  the  first  confusion  had 
subsided,  was  one  of  strange  anxiety  and  unrest.  He 
could  not  make  out  the  affair  at  all.  One  thing,  how- 
ever, he  did  know  :  he  was  not  going  home  to  "  brighten 
it  up."  On  the  other  hand,  he  would  not  willingly 
destroy  a  thing  which  possibly  might  be  of  more  value 
than  he  knew.  Minna  and  Sivert  !  It  was  like  harness- 
ing a  fiery  mare  and  a  billy-goat  together.  No,  it  would 
never  do  ;  it  was  hopeless  from  the  first. 

But  the  billy-goat  had  foretold — had  wisely  foreseen 
— what  appeared  incomprehensible  I 

Emanuel  curbed  his  home-sickness  and  his  curiosity; 
he  sought  company  in  the  town,  and  remained  there 
week  after  week.  Nevertheless,  he  remained  anxiously 
on  the  look  out  towards  home,  and  opened  his  mother's 
letters  with  greater  eagerness  than  ever  before.  "  You 
are  hereby  solemnly  invited  to  the  wedding  on  the 
28th  of  September,"  she  wrote  one  day. 

Emanuel  wrote  to  his  sister  Hedvig,  who  answered 
as  follows  : 

"  Yes,  I  am  invited  too,  but  I  think  we  had  better 
not.     I  understand  you  feel  just  as  I  do  about  it  all ; 


238     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

there's  that  about  you  and  me,  anything  with  a  taste 
of  humbug  about  it  makes  us  sick.  And  we  hate 
cloves,  because  we  had  too  much  of  father's  abomin- 
able clove  tea  when  we  were  children.  I  hate 
humbug.  It's  the  strongest  feeling  in  me.  Stronger 
than  love. 

"  I  loved  a  man  once.  He  was  harsh  and  cruel, 
and  I  knew  it,  but  I  gave  in  to  it  without  a  word.  But 
I  broke  it  off  with  him  the  very  day  I  saw  he  was  a  hum- 
bug too.  That  sort  of  thing  must  be  crushed — whether 
it's  religious  madness  as  with  father,  or  music  madness 
as  with  the  other.  He  still  writes  to  me.  But  I  don't 
answer. 

"  If  I  ever  do  marry  a  man,  it'll  be  one  that's  sound 
and  honest  to  the  core. 

"  You  may  hear  something  later  about  me  and  some 
one  else.  I  only  want  to  ask  Fru  van  Haag's  advice 
about  it  first — though  she's  a  humbug  too,  like  nearly 
everybody  else. 

"  Don't  go  to  that  wedding. — Your  loving  sister, 

"  Hedvig." 

Emanuel  nodded  to  himself.  Yes,  he  would  be  like 
Hedvig.     No  humbug,  no  hes  and  masquerading. 

He  knew  well  enough  who  it  was  Hedvig  meant 
with  the  man  she  had  loved — it  was  the  painter, 
Johan  Fors.  And  Hedvig  herself  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  see  what  they  said  in  the  papers  about  that 
same  Johan — that  he  was  now  a  successful  artist  in 
Paris. 

No,  Hedvig  knew  her  own  mind.  She  saw  her 
way,  straight  ahead,  though  it  led  through  fire  and 
water. 

But  who  could  it  be  she  was  thinking  of  now — the 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     239 

other  man  ?     A  marvel  he  must  be — a  pyramid  of  a 
man,  with  four  clear-cut  sides  of  smooth  stone  ! 

Emanuel  took  up  his  pen,  while  the  energy  induced 
by  Hedvig's  letter  was  still  strong  in  him,  and  wrote 
declining  the  invitation  to  the  wedding. 


XVII 

SIVERT'S  wedding  is  over.  It  was  a  grand  wedding, 
with  lots  of  people,  both  in  the  church  and 
after.  The  bride's  parents  were  both  dead  and 
buried,  but  the  bridegroom  had  his  father  and  mother  ; 
both  came,  and  enjoyed  the  occasion  immensely — 
especially  his  mother. 

But  what  is  the  good  of  a  great  occasion  when  there's 
no  one  to  talk  to  about  it  after  ?     Anna  had  no  one. 

She  could  not  talk  to  her  husband — his  festive  mood 
passed  off  the  same  evening,  and  he  fell  back  once  more 
to  his  speculations  and  worrying  over  the  brickwork 
business. 

Nor,  alas,  could  she  confide  in  Fru  van  Haag — Fruen 
had  been  strangely  silent  and  sad  of  late,  as  if  she  were 

m. 

Anna  wrote  to  Emanuel — "  Why  don't  you  come 
home,  dear  ?  Come  as  soon  as  ever  you  can,  so  I  can 
tell  you  all  about  the  wedding.  You've  no  idea  what 
a  sight  it  was,  to  see  Sivert  walking  up  the  church  in 
shiny  white  gloves,  led  by  his  father.  Minna  was 
handed  up  the  aisle  by  Engineer  Sveidal ;  she  has  already 
forgiven  him.  We  two  old  people — your  father  and  I 
— went  home  early,  but  we  saw  the  best  part  of  it,  all 
the  same.  So  come  home  now,  and  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it." 

And  Emanuel  came  at  last.     But  Emanuel's  way  is 

to  investigate   things   thoroughly  for  himself ;    conse- 

240 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     241 

quently,  he  pays  but  little  heed  to  his  mother's  flowery 
outpourings,  and  goes  off  himself,  somewhat  anxiously, 
to  pay  a  visit  to  the  newly  married  pair. 

He  bought  some  flowers  on  the  way,  and  went 
straight  into  Minna's  shop.  Minna  came  through  from 
the  back  room,  in  a  black  apron  with  embroidered  edges, 
a  bright  pair  of  scissors  hung  by  a  silk  cord  round  her 
waist.  Here  and  there  a  fragment  of  thread  clung  to 
her  dress.  Emanuel  summed  up  her  appearance  in  a 
general  impression  of  something  healthy  and  business- 
Uke,  which  altogether  effaced  the  irony  that  had  been 
gathering  in  him  till  then.  It  was  nice  of  her  too,  he 
thought,  that  she  said  not  a  word  about  his  having 
stayed  away  on  the  occasion  of  the  wedding.  She 
simply  gave  an  order,  in  a  voice  of  authority,  to  a  young 
lady  in  the  shop — evidently  a  learner — and  went  up- 
stairs with  him  at  once.  Wine  and  glasses  were  brought 
out  in  a  moment  ;  welcome — congratulations — thanks, 
and  so  on. 

Then,  with  a  business-like  air  that  happily  saved 
the  whole  thing  from  being  ridiculous,  she  went  round 
pointing  out  things  high  and  low — palms  and  pictures, 
candlesticks  and  silver. 

"  From  my  uncle — from  Rothe — from  S0rensen  in 
Randers  ;  only  feel  the  weight  of  it  !  He  was  a  friend 
of  father's,  you  know.  From  Weisz's — from  the  van 
Haags.  And  look  here — a  golden  necklace — that's 
from  my  husband  himself." 

Minna's  one  little  lie  !  Emanuel  knew  that  gold 
chain  with  the  locket  well  enough.  His  keen,  boyish 
eyes  had  seen  it  hanging  round  Minna's  neck  as  long  as 
he  could  remember.  But  she  had  pohshed  it  up  and 
.  .  .  well,  after  all,  the  lie  was  only  meant  to  make  her 
husband  seem  a  little  more  than  he  was. 
i6 


242     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Si  vert  is  not  at  home  ?  "  asked  Emanuel. 

"  My  husband's  down  in  the  cellar.  Sawing  wood. 
I've  bought  two  loads,  and  he's  to  cut  it  all  up." 

Again  this  refreshing  clearness  and  frankness  in  all 
things,    "/have  bought  .  .  ."    "  J/^'s /o  cut  it  up.  .  .  ." 

"  But  what  about  his  glazier's  business  ?  "  asked 
Emanuel  again.     "  Is  he  giving  that  up  ?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  mind  people  knowing  that  there's  a 
glazier  down  below.  But  I  won't  have  any  sign  hung 
up  outside." 

Minna's  eyes  looked  wise.  She  thought  the  matter 
over  once  again  : 

"  A  sign's  a  needful  thing  for  a  milliner,  or  a  draper's 
shop.  People  may  come  in  from  another  town,  or  from 
the  country,  and  drop  in  to  buy  a  necktie,  or  a  hat, 
when  they  see  the  sign  up  outside.  But  for  a  glazier — 
no.  If  a  window  gets  broken,  they  send  for  the  nearest 
glazier — and  they  know  where  he  hves.  Well — perhaps," 
said  Minna  conscientiously,  turning  once  round  on  her 
heel — "  perhaps  a  trifle  may  be  lost  that  way.  But 
nothing  to  speak  of.  And  the  sign  itself  costs  money. 
Moreover,  it  spoils  the  look  of  the  place,  and  the  property 
goes  down  in  value.     No,  /  won't  have  a  sign  put  up." 

Emanuel  nodded  approvingly.  After  a  suitable  stay 
he  took  his  leave,  and  asked  if  he  might  go  down  the 
back  way  ;  he  wanted  to  look  in  and  see  Si  vert.  Half- 
way down  the  stairs  he  heard  a  saw  commence  to  work. 
He  dived  down  the  cellar  steps,  and  noted  with  mischievous 
amusement  how  Sivert  dragged  away  at  the  saw,  working 
so  zealously  that  he  did  not  hear  anyone  coming.  The 
sawdust  hung  like  powder  in  his  thin  hair.  Not  until 
Emanuel  had  been  standing  behind  him  a  full  minute  did 
he  turn,  with  a  frightened  glance  from  the  corner  of 
his  eyes. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    243 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ?  "  he  said,  with  rehef,  and  laid 
down  the  saw. 

"  Hope  I'm  not  disturbing  you,  what  ?  " 

Sivert  caught  hold  of  his  brother  and  shook  him, 
saying,  with  a  childish  expression  : 

"  Oh,  don't  !  You  know  what  women  are,  with  their 
fancies.  I  can't  help  it,  can  I  ?  And  then  you  know 
really,  it's  quite  a  good  idea.  I'm  sure  I'd  never  have 
hit  on  it  myself." 

"  Agreed !  " 

"  Good  ! — then  let's  talk  of  something  else.  Thanks 
for  remembering  our  wedding-day  —  oh,  didn't  you  ? 
Well,  never  mind.  I  always  say  that  now  whenever  I  see 
anybody.  Thank  'em,  you  know,  and  pleased  to  see 
them  any  time,  if  they're  passing,  and  yes,  thanks,  quite 
a  comfortable  place,  and  so  on.  See  how  I'm  getting 
on,  in  manners  and  that  sort  of  thing  !  Why,  I  feel 
a  different  man  altogether.  Sometimes  I  can't  make 
out  what  it  is  that's  happened." 

"  Well,  you've  got  married,  old  man." 

Sivert  shook  his  head,  with  a  curious  smile. 

"  Have  I,  though  ?  Well,  now,  fancy — to  think  that 
should  ever  happen  to  me  !  And  a  milliner,  too.  I  must 
be  ever  so  happy,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  don't  understand  a  word  of  it  either,"  said 
Emanuel  seriously. 

"  Don't  understand  me  being  happy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  how  you  ever  managed  to  get 
her." 

"  Why,  that's  easy  enough,  surely.  I  just  wrote 
her  a  letter,  and  said  it  must  be  my  turn  now,  seeing 
there  was  nobody  else  she'd  any  chance  of  getting  at 
all." 

"  Sensible  man  !  " 


244     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Yes,  it  was  sensible,  wasn't  it  ?  That's  why  I 
didn't  send  the  letter  after  all,  but  wrote  another,  just 
the  opposite — saying,  of  course,  she  could  get  as  many 
as  she  pleased,  and  so  on.  Yes  .  ,  .  you  see,  I've 
noticed  whenever  I  do  anything  sensible  it  always  goes 
wrong." 

Sivert  was  bubbling  with  laughter.  He  clambered 
up  on  the  saw-bench  and  flapped  his  wings  in  idiotic 
glee. 

"  I  did  it  !  By  the  celebrated  Lord  on  High,  I  did 
it,  'and  it  came  off.  Next  day  there  came  an  official 
invitation — imagine  what  a  fright  I  was  in — to  be 
round  at  her  back-stairs  entrance  at  eleven  that  even- 
ing !  " 

He  stepped  down,  and  lowered  his  voice  to  a  con- 
fidential whisper. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  so  you  can  come  and  persuade  me 
some  day  that  it's  not  all  a  terrible  dream.  I  stood 
there  holding  the  letter,  and  could  hardly  read  it,  and 
lay  awake  after  all  that  day,  thinking  what  on  earth 
to  do.  Then  in  the  afternoon  I  took  off  my  things  and 
washed  myself  all  over  in  warm  water  right  to  the  waist. 
So  as  to  be  ready,  in  case.  Well,  as  it  happened,  there  was 
no  need  of  it  that  evening,  but  it  came  in  useful  after, 
on  the  wedding-day.  Thanks  for  remembering  our 
wedding-day,  by  the  way.  Hope  you'll  look  in  and 
see  us  any  time  .  .  ." 

"  Thanks,  I've  just  had  the  pleasure." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way.  Only  as  a  sort 
of  proverb,  you  know.  But  about  that  wash — do  you 
know  what  I  found  ?  Here,  right  on  my  chest,  Minna 
Lund's  name,  with  Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  !  I  took  it 
as  a  sign  from  above.  It  was  really  mostly  that  that 
helped  me  to  make  up  my  mind." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     245 

"  Oh— that  old  tattooing  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Sivert,  nodding  quietly.  "  It  showed 
up  gradually,  right  inside  on  the  skin." 

"  Like  the  paintings  under  the  whitewash  in  the 
church  1  " 

"  Exactly." 

"  Well,  go  on,  old  man." 

"  Interesting  to  talk  to,  aren't  I  ?  Ever  in  your 
life  hear  anything  so  desperately  exciting  ?  Ah,  but 
suppose  I  wasn't  in  the  mood  ?  My  voice  is  breaking, 
I  think.  And  then  you  come  along  interrupting  me  in 
my  work.  Just  when  I  was  getting  on  so  nicely.  Ho — 
here  I  Don't  go  running  away  deserting  your  brother 
in  distress.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  Well,  you  see, 
after  I'd  had  my  bath,  I  stood  all  naked  for  an  hour  in 
front  of  the  glass.  Then  I  got  out  my  things,  one  by 
one,  and  put  fresh  newspaper  in  the  trousers.  You 
remember  we  always  used  to  do  that  out  west  ;  it's  the 
finest  thing  in  the  world  to  keep  you  warm  ..." 

"  But  it's  summer  !  " 

"  Never  mind.  Then  I  pumped  up  my  bicycle  and 
cleaned  up  the  lamp," 

"  Frightened,  what  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  Lord,  no  !  you  don't  know  me.  But  then  I 
pulled  myself  together  and  off  at  a  furious  pace.  It  was 
simply  dreadful,  really.  I  can't  understand  how  I  ever 
got  through  it  to  this  day.  She  sat  there  all  close  up 
to  me  on  the  sofa,  life  size  and  more,  laying  down  the 
conditions  as  stern  as  could  be.  vShe  wanted  to  get  a 
sort  of  lease  of  me,  as  far  as  I  could  see.  Well,  I  agreed 
to  it  all,  except  the  last.     I  said  no  to  that." 

"  What  was  it  you  said  '  no  '  to  ?  " 

"  She  asked  if  I'd  expected  anything  different,"  said 
Sivert,  with  a  grin. 


246     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  No,"  he  went  on,  "  I  didn't  interfere  with  the 
contract  otherwise — best  leave  it  to  her,  I  thought. 
And  an3^how,  the  banquet — I  mean  the  wedding  busi- 
ness— I  couldn't  have  managed  that  half  so  well  myself. 
Why  didn't  you  come,  you  devil  ?  " 

"  You  might  have  asked  Ditlev  Plok." 

"  I  couldn't.  I  knew  he'd  burnt  his  indiarubber 
collar.  But  I  tell  you,  you  ought  to  have  seen  me.  I 
wish  there'd  been  a  gramophone  in  the  church." 

"  You  mean  a  cinematograph  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  mean  a  gramophone.  To  take 
down  the  sound  of  me  walking  up  the  aisle.  That  was 
enough.  Oh,  you  don't  know.  I  didn't  walk.  I  strode, 
dragging  one  leg  a  little  behind.  I  pretended  to  catch 
my  foot  in  the  carpet  and  stumble.  One  place,  I  stopped 
and  stood  as  if  in  thought.  And  when  I  went  up  the 
steps  in  front  of  the  altar,  my  trousers  creaked." 

"  What  creaked  ?  " 

"  My  trousers — the  newspapers,  you  know.  Heaps 
of  them.  All  new.  And  it  seemed  quite  musical,  really. 
I  declare  I  felt  like  taking  off  all  my  things  there  and 
then  before  the  congregation,  to  show  off  my  fine  physique, 
all  scrubbed  and  scoured.  And  then  the  dinner  after — 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  I  was  a  hero  there.  Though  I 
couldn't  manage  to  eat  up  all  there  was.  We  had  six 
sorts  of  dishes  at  least,  with  the  wine.  And  then,  when 
we  got  to  chicken  and  toadstools — my  favourite  of  all — 
I  couldn't.  Oh,  it  was  simply  beastly.  I  wouldn't  go 
through  that  again  more  than  once  for  anything." 

"  Did  it  make  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  soon  got  over  it.  It  didn't  spoil  my  concert 
voice,  anyhow." 

"  So  you  entertained  the  company  with  a  song  ?  " 

"  Well,    I   had   to,  you   know.     It    was    my   turn. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     247 

Minna  did  a  duet  with  the  engineer  man — she  was  going 
to,  that  is.  Only  she  couldn't  find  the  music.  Ah, 
couldn't  find  it — no,  I  should  think  not  !  " 

"  Whatapity  !" 

"  Dreadful  misfortune,"  said  Sivert,  with  a  grin. 
"  We  spent  more  than  half  an  hour  looking  for  it  all 
over  the  house,  Minna  and  Sveidal  and  me — but  we 
didn't  look  in  the  right  place,  haha  !  Never  mind — 
as  I  said  before,  my  trousers  creaked  at  every  step  !  " 

Sivert  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  exultation  at  the  recol- 
lection ;  he  kicked  off  both  his  wooden  shoes  high  in  the 
air,  and  danced  round  the  cellar  in  his  socks. 

"  And  where  was  the  music,  after  all  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  Don't  you  see  ?  Why,  here — here  in  the 
back  of  my  breeches.  I  pinched  it  the  same  morning. 
And  there  it  was  all  the  time  in  the  seat  of  my  bridal 
uniform,  creaking  as  musically  as  could  be.  There  it 
was — and  here  it  is  now — nearest  my  skin,  and  lovely 
and  warm.  And  here  it  shall  stay  till  my  dying  day. 
Who  married  Minna,  I  should  like  to  know,  Sveidal  or 
me  ?  Ho  !  No  more  duets  in  this  house  without  I'm 
taking  part  !  " 

Emanuel  thought  to  himself  once  more  :  a  lusty 
young  mare  and  a  gleeful  billy-goat  harnessed  together. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  said  aloud  : 

"  But  surely  you  had  to  get  out  of  your  clothes  some 
time  on  your  wedding-day  ?  " 

"No." 

"  What  ?     How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Sivert  changed  colour.  "  Don't  let's  think  about 
that,"  he  said.  "  It  was  awful.  I  sat  there  feeling 
horribly  uncomfortable,  as  if  father  and  God  and  you 
were  hiding  in  corners  and  laughing  at  me.  And  she  stood 
up  in  bed,  a  dreadful  sight,  with  her  hair  all  loose,  and 


248     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

nothing  on  but  a  bathing-dress.  '  Take  off  all  your 
things  !  '  she  said.  And  I  did.  But  then  she  said  I 
was  to  take  off  more  still,  take  off  my  under  pants.  So 
I  ran  away.  Ran  in  next  door  to  '  my  husband's  room.' 
And  slept  there  in  my  bridal  armour  with  the  tablecloth 
over  me.     And  that's  as  far  as  I've  ever  got." 


XVIII 

HEDVIG  writes  to  Fru  van  Haag  : 
"  Vranstedgaard,  24th  March. 

"  My  dear  kind  Mistress, — Yes,  I  can't  help 
thinking  of  you  still  as  mistress.  A  hundred  times  I 
find  myself  thinking  :  What  would  '  Fruen  '  say  to  this 
or  that  before  I  do  it.  Up  to  now,  I  have  managed  more 
or  less  on  your  advice  ;  to  do  what  I  Uked.  I  can  always 
hear  your  voice,  the  very  way  you  said  it  ;  and  it  makes 
a  difference  too.  Not  '  Do  what  you  hke  '  but  '  Do  what 
you  like  !  ' 

"  Well,  and  up  to  now,  I  have  known  what  I  Uked, 
and  done  it,  and  been  glad  of  it,  and  grateful  to  you. 
But  now  I've  come  to  something  that  may  be  a  great 
thing  in  my  Hfe,  and  I  can't  say  whether  I  Hke  it  or  hke 
better  to  run  away  and  avoid  it.  There's  a  man  who 
wants  me  to  marry  him. 

"  But  I  may  as  well  say  at  once,  this  is  the  fourth  or 
fifth  time  some  one's  wanted  me  to,  only  up  till  now  I've 
always  been  sure  myself  I  didn't  want  to. 

"  You  can  help  me,  I  know.  And  I  know  you 
will. 

"  He's  in  a  dairy,  a  good  honest  fellow  in  every  way, 
and  clean  and  nice  as  fresh-made  butter. 

"  And  that's  quite  a  lot  to  say  for  a  man,  isn't  it  ? 
I  know  enough  of  the  world  to  know  that.     I've  been  in 

lots  of  places  now,  and  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world. 

249 


250    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

And  then  all  that  I  learned  when  I  was  with  you  !  Oh, 
you  touched  my  eyes  and  made  me  see. 

"  And  I've  read  lots  of  books,  Augustinus  Tril- 
lingsbaek — yes,  that's  his  name,  worse  luck — has  read  a 
good  deal  too,  when  he  was  at  the  Extension  School. 
But  now  that  he's  a  free  man,  no  power  on  earth  can  make 
him  take  up  a  book. 

"  I  won't  tire  you  with  telling  how  we  came  to  meet. 
It  was  last  summer  in  Copenhagen.  He  had  come  in 
to  fetch  his  mother  from  the  hospital.  (It's  her  I'm 
with  now.)  But  I'll  mention  one  httle  thing  to  show 
what  he's  like.  The  first  few  days  we  knew  each  other 
he  was  shy  and  serious — I  was  a  fine  lady,  and  he  hardly 
dared  look  at  me.  But  then  I  went  with  him  to  see  his 
mother,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  with  her,  he  began  sud- 
denly laughing  hke  a  madman,  and  after  a  while  of  that, 
he  fell  to  crying  so  the  tears  rolled  down  his  jacket.  And 
he  touched  my  sleeve  and  my  hair. 

"  It  was  ridiculous,  of  course,  but  I  gave  him  a 
kiss — the  first  one.  I  really  felt  fond  of  him  at  that 
moment. 

"  For  though  I  fight  against  it  as  hard  as  I  can,  I've 
such  a  longing  to  he  loved  hy  some  one. 

"  What  with  Augustinus'  crying  and  laughing,  I  gave 
up  my  place  with  two  quite  first-rate  people,  an  artist 
and  his  wife  named  Uhde,  where  I  was  just  the  same 
as  a  daughter  to  them,  and  moved  over  here  to  Vransted- 
gaard,  with  every  prospect  of  finding  myself  a  dairy- 
manager's  wife,  if  I  don't  stand  out  against  it  tooth  and 
nail. 

"  And  why  should  I  ? 

"  Well,  now,  I  want  to  ask  :  oughtn't  a  girl  to  be 
looking  forward  to  her  wedding-day  ?  Because  I'm 
not. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     251 

"  I  can  laugh,  yes,  but  I've  never  been  really  happy 
since  I  was  a  child. 

"  Once  I  came  very  near  to  being  happy.  And  that 
was  when  I  was  with  you,  Fru  van  Haag.  It  was  the 
evening  when  we  ran  out  like  two  schoolgirls  and  listened 
outside  the  church  to  Johan  Fors  playing.  I  laughed 
and  cried  with  love  all  night  after — very  much  like  my 
good  Augustinus  Trillingsbaek. 

"  I've  had  two  letters,  by  the  way,  from  Johan  Fors. 
But  I  never  think  of  him,  and  certainly  I'm  not  in  love 
with  him.  If  so,  I  shouldn't  be  writing  this  to  you. 
And  I've  never  written  him  a  word  in  answer.  He's  in 
Paris  now.  No,  if  I  saw  him  crossing  the  street  I'd  not 
so  much  as  turn  round  to  look  at  him.  I  rather  think 
I  should  hang  on  tighter  to  my  dairyman's  arm.  For 
it's  almost  happiness  to  me  to  feel  some  one  really  cares 
for  me. 

"  Poor  dear  Augustinus — he's  just  come  in  now,  and 
is  sitting  just  behind  me.  Ever  so  quiet.  I  know 
he's  looking  at  me  all  the  time,  but  he  never  ventures 
to  disturb  me  the  least  little  bit.  He  thinks  me  a  fine 
lady.  He  loves  everything  that's  '  fine  ' — that's  why 
he  wants  to  be  dairy-manager  instead  of  taking  over 
the  farm.  As  soon  as  I  came  here,  he  gave  me  a  bicycle, 
and  now  this  Christmas  he  came  and  said  :  '  Here — 
I've  got  you  a  bicycle  catalogue  of  pianos — so  you  can 
pick  out  the  best  for  yourself  ! ' 

"  Don't  think,  though,  I'm  trying  to  make  him  out 
as  just  simple  and  foolish.  No,  sometimes  he  and  his 
mother  can  be  finer  than  anyone  in  their  manners. 
They've  never  asked  me  once  about  my  people,  still 
less  a  word  about  money  matters. 

"  Do  write  now  and  tell  me  what's  best  to  do  about 
it.     Remember  I've  nobody  to  ask  but  you.     When  I 


252     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

try  to  think  calmly  and  sensibly  about  it,  it  seems  a 
good  chance,  and  not  to  be  thrown  away.  But  some- 
thing inside  me  makes  me  hesitate.  I  lie  awake  at 
nights,  and  it  always  ends  in  thinking  back  to  the 
lovely  time  with  you  at  Knarreby  Toldbod.  And  then 
I  cry,  and  hope  you  can  help  me — and  will.  I  shall 
always  remember  you,  and  I  can't  think  you've  quite 
forgotten  your  Hedvig." 

Fru  van  Haag  thought  over  the  matter  for  some 
days,  and  then  wrote  in  reply. 

"  Dear  little  Hedvig,"  she  began — and  then, 
seeing  the  three  simple  words  on  the  paper,  in  her 
curious  tall  hand,  she  bowed  down  over  the  paper  and 
spoiled  it  altogether  by  crying  over  it.  Then  she  felt 
ashamed  of  herself,  and  took  a  fresh  sheet.  It  was 
most  important  that  there  should  be  no  sign  of  tears 
about  this  letter.  It  was  her  business  here  to  be  strong — 
to  comfort  and  advise. 

"  Dear  little  Hedvig, — I  was  so  glad  to  get  your 
letter,  though  it  wasn't  a  very  bright  one,  to  be  sure. 
But  I've  been  going  about  with  my  head  on  one  side, 
listening  over  towards  where  you  were  and  wondering 
if  there  wouldn't  come  a  word  from  you  soon.  And 
here  it  is  at  last,  and  here  am  I,  my  little  friend  ;  my 
daughter  by  God's  grace  for  a  little  time — but  a  time  I 
shall  never  forget. 

"  You  are  quite  right.  You  are  a  creature  of  modern 
times,  and  you  go  to  a  speciahst.  If  you've  a  stomach- 
ache, you  go  to  a  specialist  in  stomach-aches,  and  when 
it's  a  case  of  love  trouble,  you  come  to  me.  I've  a 
quarter  of  a  century's  experience  in  that  particular  line. 

"  But  I  must  see  you  before  I  can  help  you.     You 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     253 

draw  a  very  good  picture  with  your  pen,  but  neverthe- 
less I  must  have  you  over  here  yourself,  and  feel  your 
pulse.  And  that  at  once.  Mind,  it's  serious.  I  can 
tell  that  much  from  your  writing  alone. 

"  And  you  will  just  be  in  time  to  say  good-bye  to 
me,  if  you  make  haste.  I'm  a  shaky  old  woman  now, 
Hedvig. 

"  If  only  we  could  cure  each  other,  you  and  I  ! 
Come,  child  ;  I  almost  think  I  could  be  young  again  if 
I  held  your  warm,  strong  hand  in  mine.  And  as  for 
yourself,  I  think  I  see  a  way. 

"  Come — we  have  so  much  to  talk  about. — Your 
mistress  and  friend, 

"  Clara  van  Haag,  nee  Steen." 

A  week  after,  Hedvig  arrived  home  unannounced. 
Her  mother  was  overwhelmed  at  seeing  her  so  trans- 
formed into  a  lady,  both  in  dress  and  speech,  and  dared 
not  take  her  in  her  arms,  but  stood  where  she  was  and 
wept.  Her  father,  on  the  other  hand,  welcomed  her 
with  enthusiasm.  He  laid  aside  all  work,  just  to  sit 
and  look  at  her  and  talk.  "  Here's  a  fine  daughter 
I've  got  in  my  old  age,"  he  said  again  and  again,  in 
frank  admiration.  Hedvig  had  felt  a  touch  of  her 
childish  defiance  from  the  old  days  when  she  first  saw 
him  now,  but  it  soon  disappeared.  They  were  neutrals 
now.  And  while  she  was  taking  in  his  admiration, 
there  was  hardly  time  for  anything  else. 

"  Well,  you  have  changed,"  he  said. 

"  So  have  you." 

"  For  the  better,  too  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  you  coulci  change  for  the  worse  ?  "  she 
said  thoughtfully.  But  then  they  both  laughed,  and 
were  excellent  friends. 


254    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  IIAAG 

Hedvig  let  him  tell  her  all  that  she  knew  only  from 
her  mother's  brief  letters.  Mostly  of  Fruen,  who  had 
sent  good  fortune  showering  down  over  the  house  ;  of 
Sivert's  marriage,  and  the  brickworks  business.  He 
talked  continuously  of  this  last,  and  something  seemed 
to  take  place  within  him  as  he  listened  to  his  own  words. 
All  through  the  winter  he  had  felt  himself  buried  alive 
under  mountains  of  bricks  ;  he  had  wrung  his  hands 
and  wished  himself  dead.  Strange,  now,  to  hear  himself 
describing  the  brickworks  as  a  magnificent  concern, 
which  had  brought  him  daily  delight  up  to  now,  and 
would  soon  be  bringing  him  wealth  into  the  bargain. 
He  sat  there,  lying  himself  into  happiness,  and  was 
happy,  really,  as  he  did  so. 

"  And  you  shall  have  your  share,  my  girl,  never 
fear,  as  soon  as  the  bricks  are  turned  out  finished,  and 
the  money  begins  to  come  in.  Yes,  indeed,  you  shall 
have  something  out  of  it  as  well.  Trousseau  and  things. 
Are  you  married  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Hedvig,  and  her  face  darkened  slightly. 
Nevertheless,  it  pleased  her  to  find  that  he  did  not 
claim  intimacy,  but  asked  as  he  might  of  a  mere  ac- 
quaintance :  "  Are  you  married  ?  " 

"  Not  ?  Well,  never  mind.  I'll  give  you  a  horse 
to  ride,  or  anything  else  you  like,  if  it  turns  out 
weU." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  turning  over  the  last  words  : 
if  it  turns  out  well.  Then  he  laughed,  with  his  head  on 
one  side,  pinched  her  arm,  and  said  : 

"  You  see,  it's  a  bit  of  a  venture,  really.  Buying  up 
a  whole  concern  like  this  for  next  to  nothing,  and 
running  the  thing  for  nothing  at  all.  A  venture — yes, 
a  game  of  chance  for  hfe  and  death.  But  I  shall  win, 
my  girl.     I'll  win  in  the  end  !  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     255 

Hedvig  had  dinner  at  home,  and  then  said  she  was 
going  round  to  call  on  Fru  van  Haag. 

"  I'll  go  too,"  said  her  father. 

"  Oh  ?  "  said  Hedvig,  raising  her  eyebrows. 

"  That  is — I  mean,  if  you'll  allow  me  ?  " 

Hedvig  graciously  nodded  permission. 

Father  and  daugher  walked  together  through  the 
town,  and,  as  it  chanced,  caught  sight  of  Hr.  van  Haag 
going  into  Vang's  Hotel.  Neither  made  any  comment, 
but  both  felt  a  sense  of  relief.  A  moment  later  they 
were  at  the  Toldbod.  They  went  straight  upstairs  and 
entered.  Fru  van  Haag  was  in  her  own  room,  seated 
at  the  writing-table  with  a  cushion  at  her  back.  But 
at  sight  of  Hedvig  she  sprang  up,  and  seemed  to  throw 
off  all  ill-health  at  once.  Her  white  cheeks  flushed  with 
youthful  colour,  and  she  drew  the  girl  to  her  warmly. 
The  two  looked  long  into  each  other's  eyes,  forgetting 
all  about  Egholm  for  the  moment.  Then  all  three  sat 
down  close  together  and  talked  of  many  things. 

"  And  you're  pleased  with  her  too.  Monsieur  Egholm, 
I  can  see.  Or  has  something  gone  right  with  the 
brickworks  ?  " 

"  That  too,"  said  Egholm  mysteriously. 

"  But  I  thought  you  said  the  clay  was  poor." 

"  Poor  ?  Did  I  say  it  was  poor  ?  It's  first  rate  ! 
I'll  show  you  a  sample,  to  judge  for  yourself — look  at 
this  !  " 

He  thrust  one  hand  into  a  pocket,  and  drew  out  a 
mass  of  yellow  gritty  stuff. 

"  Funny  to  think  you  can  make  bricks  out  of  that," 
said  Fruen. 

Egholm  sat  silent,  letting  the  others  talk  ;  then  he 
cut  into  the  conversation  himself  all  at  once.  Evidently 
he  had  been  thinking  of  something  all  the  time. 


256     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  My  doubts  as  to  the  quality  of 
the  clay  have  proved  unfounded.  The  mass  holds  well 
together,  and  we  can  already  consider  it  certain  the  bricks 
will  turn  out  all  right.  I  feel  I  ought  to  tell  you  this  at 
once,  because  you'll  be  gone  by  the  time  they're  finished." 

"  No,  I  think  not.     I  think  I  must  wait  till  after." 

"  Well,  well — but  anyhow,  as  I  say,  I'm  practically 
certain  it  will  turn  out  all  right  now." 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  can  almost  say,  I  know  it  will,"  said  Egholm 
firmly. 

Shortly  after  he  took  his  leave.  Fruen  went  with 
him  out  into  the  passage,  despite  his  protests,  but  when 
she  came  back,  she  was  still  full  of  what  he  had  said. 

"  I  can't  understand,"  she  said,  "  how  he  can  be 
right.  I  only  hope  it  may  be  so.  Oh,  Hedvig,  if  only 
we  could  make  that  man  happy,  after  life's  been  so 
hard  to  him  all  along  !  " 

"  He's  been  hard  on  others  in  return,"  said  Hedvig 
coldly  and  clearly. 

"  Of  course  he  has  !  He  couldn't  hit  back  where  his 
troubles  come  from.  And  so  he's  taken  it  out  of  Little 
Mother  and  you  and  the  others.  And  that's  why  he's 
an  unhappy  man." 

"  I  look  on  father  more  as  a  madman  than  an  un- 
happy man." 

"  Nonsense,  Hedvig.  He's  just  as  much  one  as  the 
other  !  " 

Fru  Clara  crouched  down,  watching  Hedvig  with 
wide  eyes.  Her  voice  trembled  a  little.  Hedvig  felt 
strangely  moved  at  the  ring  of  emotion  in  her  words  as 
she  went  on  : 

"  Ah,  think  of  it — think  what  a  terrible  thing  to  be 
born  with  a  brain  diseased.     We  others,  dear,  we  go  out 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     257 

into  the  world  with  a  bank-book  to  draw  on.  Kasper 
Egholm,  poor  fellow,  has  no  bank-book,  but  a  madness 
that  breaks  out  the  day  he  falls  over  a  stone  and  strikes 
his  head  on  the  ground." 

Hedvig  drew  a  deep  breath  and  said  : 

"  I  don't  believe  in  that  sort  of  stone.  Either  a 
man's  mad,  or  he's  sane.     That's  how  I  look  at  it." 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  circumstances  ?  " 

"  What  circumstances  do  you  mean  ?  What's  the 
stone  that  upset  things  for  him  ?  " 

"  Clara  Steen's  that  stone.  Clara  Steen  it  was,  in 
Helsingor.  My  dear,  I  thought  you  understood  as  much. 
He  was  in  love  with  me,  you  know,  and  I  encouraged 
him  a  Uttle.  Isn't  that  a  sharp  stone  enough,  Hedvig, 
a  devilish  stone  to  get  in  the  way  ?  No,  but  of  course 
you  didn't  understand.  I  didn't  reaUse  it  myself  till 
a  few  years  back.  At  first — when  I  came  to  Knarreby, 
I  used  to  go  and  see  your  people  because  they  were  more 
amusing  than  the  others — and  altogether  more  human. 
But  now,  it's  not  amusement  only,  but  affection — and 
sympathy — and  a  mournful,  conscience-stricken  regret. 
Hedvig,  if  I  can't  make  your  father  and  those  near  to 
him  happy  some  way,  I  shall  go  out  of  the  world  hke  a 
slave.  Hedvig,  you  must  help  me.  That's  why  I  sent 
for  you,  really.  You  must  help  me,  if  you  really  care 
for  me  at  all." 

"  How  can  I  help  caring  for  you — after  all  you've 
been  to  me — all  you've  done  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course.  It's  your  plain  duty  to  be  deeply 
grateful  to  me.  Didn't  I  give  you  the  yellow  trunk  with 
the  handles — an  expensive  thing,  with  labels  from  Rome 
and  Paris,  that  you  were  so  proud  of.  Well,  don't 
forget  it,  that's  all.  You've  got  to  pay  me  back  for 
that  and  all  my  other  benefactions.  Didn't  you  find  a 
17 


258     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

ten-Kroner  note  on  your  hatpin  when  the  Professor 
went  away  ?  Yes,  but  /  put  it  there,  you  know.  He 
forgot,  just  as  he  forgot  about  Hr.  van  Haag's  collars. 
Yes,  I've  been  good  to  you,  and  now  in  return  you've 
got  to  give  up  this  Augustinus  Trillingsbaek  for  my  sake. 
Don't  laugh — can't  you  hear  me  praying  to  you  on  my 
knees  for  that  one  little  thing  ?     Give  him  to  me." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him  ?  "  said  Hedvig.  The 
tears  were  gathering  in  her  eyes,  despite  her  smile.  She 
strove  to  keep  them  back  with  her  long  fair  eyelashes, 
but  they  grew  heavier,  and  broke  through  like  great 
dewdrops,  and  fell  on  her  hands. 

"  I  don't  want  him  at  all.  Let  him  stick  to  his  dairy, 
that's  all.  Let  him  go  on  with  his  butter  and  cheese, 
but  .  .  .  That  is,  of  course,  unless  you've  promised 
him  .  .  ." 

"  No,"  said  Hedvig.  "  I've  kissed  him  once  or  twice. 
But  I've  told  him  as  plainly  as  I  could  in  so  many  words 
that  he  mustn't  make  any  mistake  and  go  thinking  I  was 
fond  of  him.  No — and  I  can  tell  you,  Fru  van  Haag, 
that  this  time,  when  I  came  away,  he  saw  the  whole 
thing  clearer  than  I  did  myself.  '  I  shan't  see  you 
again,  I  know  ' — those  were  his  last  words." 

"  Oh  dear  !  "  said  Fru  van  Haag,  all  sympathy  now. 
"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said,  no  one  could  say.  But  it  was  a  dreadfully 
sad  parting." 

"  Be  thankful  you've  got  it  over  now,  child.  In  a 
little  while,  perhaps,  it  might  have  been  too  late.  It 
might  have  killed  you." 

"  We  were  to  have  been  married  in  May." 

"  Terrible  !  " 

"  He's  a  good  man,  and  nice  in  Jots  of  ways.  But 
of  course  ..." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     259 

"  He  !  Yes,  he's  good  enough.  But  you — you're 
an  egoist,  a  criminal  !  You  know  you  don't  love  him  ! 
Good  heavens,  is  the  world  standing  still,  then  ?  Are 
we  to  have  that  same  crime  of  ignorance  again,  genera- 
tion after  generation  ?  Look  at  me — I'm  one  that  was 
a  coward  in  love.  Do  you  think  it  was  for  love  I  married 
Hr.  van  Haag  ?  I  took  him  because  he  was  decently 
dressed,  and  kept  his  nails  clean  ;  because,  as  you  put  it 
yourself,  it  seemed  quite  a  good  match.  And  so  we 
struggled  on,  the  way  you  know.  He  hated  me,  and  I 
hated  him.  Sometimes  I  went  off  travelling  about  and 
taking  him  round  to  places,  to  make  him  a  little  smarter 
in  manners  and  appearance.  But  the  last  few  years 
I've  stayed  at  home,  because  all  my  money  was  gone, 
and  because  I  had  you  and  the  others  to  console  me. 
I  stood  it  pretty  well,  really,  his  talking  at  me  at  night 
and  all  the  other  horrible  things  about  him.  I  was  a 
martyr,  of  course,  and  when  you  once  feel  that,  you  can 
take  almost  anything  smiling.  But  now  I'm  going 
away.     Why's  that,  do  you  think  ?  " 

Fru  van  Haag  looked  at  Hedvig  with  a  faint  smile, 
and  stroked  her  hands. 

"  Yes,  my  martyrdom's  over  now.  Slap-bang — all 
over  now.  And  a  black  mark  on  my  forehead  instead 
of  a  martyr's  crown.  Hr.  van  Haag's  fallen  in  love ! 
With  Fru  Vang — the  woman  whose  husband  drowned 
himself — the  woman  with  the  fringe  and  the  smile — the 
pious  one.  It  must  have  been  going  on  for  a  long  time, 
I  fancy,  before  I  noticed  it.  I  knew  he  was  always 
going  down  to  the  hotel,  where  she  looked  after  the 
kitchen  and  things,  but — well,  can  you  imagine  Hr. 
van  Haag  and  being  in  love  in  the  same  breath  ?  No. 
Then  one  day  I  saw  him  sitting  at  table,  at  lunch,  with 
some  violets  in  his  hand.     He  was  fiddling  about  with 


260     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

them  such  a  funny  way.  Then  in  the  afternoon  the 
pair  of  them  came  up  together — and  he  tells  me  Fru 
Vang  is  going  to  take  over  the  housekeeping  here — from 
the  first  of  May.  As  housekeeper-maid — or  whatever 
you  like  to  call  it.  And  the  violets  were  stuck  in  her 
breast  with  a  thick  pin." 

"  Oh,  that  horrible  slimy  creature  !  I  wonder  you 
didn't  spit  in  their  faces  !  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  did,  Hedvig.  I  laughed  at 
them — laughed  desperately — couldn't  help  it." 

"  Well,  that  was  a  good  thing,  anyway." 

"  No,  it  wasn't.  But  I  simply  couldn't  help  it.  I 
was  so  ashamed  of  myself  after.  That  awkward  woodeny 
smile  of  his,  it  was  like  an  accusation  against  me  ;  for 
having  kept  him  shut  out  from  love  for  twenty-five 
years." 

Hedvig  thought  for  a  moment.     Then  she  said  : 

"  If  anyone's  to  blame — why,  surely  it  must  be 
between  you.  Hr.  van.  Haag's  as  bad  himself.  He 
wanted  you,  you  said  so  yourself." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  it's  the  one  that  knows  that's  always 
to  blame.  I  knew,  my  dear,  I  understood,  but  my  con- 
science never  spoke  till  now — and  now  it's  rather  late, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see — I'm  not  sure  you've  anything  to 
blame  yourself  for  now." 

"  Yes,  you  do  know,  my  dear.  Why  did  you  write 
to  me  at  all  ?  " 

Hedvig  shook  her  head,  but  the  denial  was  in  itself 
an  admission. 

Fruen  went  on  : 

"  And  so  I'm  going  away  now.  We  can't  have  a 
woman  in  the  house  that's  my  servant  and  my  husband's 
mistress,  can  we  ?     There's  some  sense   in  that,  you 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     261 

must  admit.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  I've  been  left  some 
money  just  lately — a  blessing,  indeed.  Quite  a  lot — the 
price  of  nearly  twenty  grand  pianos.  It's  a  nuisance  I 
can't  use  it  for  something  better,  but  I  must  live.  I'm 
going  to  Frankfurt  first,  to  my  brother.  He's  a  famous 
man,  you  know,  and  dreadfully  dull." 

Fru  Clara  took  an  orange  from  a  big  bowl  and  began 
to  peel  it. 

"  There,"  she  said,  offering  Hedvig  half.  "  A  fore- 
taste of  the  south.  Take  it,  Hedvig.  And  thank  you 
ever  so  much  for  Augustinus.  All  may  come  right  yet, 
as  long  as  I  can  feel  I've  really  saved  you  from  some- 
thing. Hedvig — a  lovely  young  thing  like  you — the 
world  would  be  darker  if  you  went  out  in  that  way.  Yes, 
I  think  I  can  go  away  now.  You'll  have  to  help  your 
father  over  things  if  these  bricks  don't  turn  out  as  he 
hopes.  Every  day  I  stay  here's  an  added  humiliation 
for  me,  but  I  should  have  to  stay  if  you  weren't  here." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hedvig  firmly.  "I'll  manage  to  make 
him  happy  again.  I've  no  hatred  left  towards  him 
now." 

"  Couldn't  you  go  a  step  farther  than  that,"  said 
Fruen  earnestly. 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  happy  enough  myself  to  be 
really  kind  to  others,"  said  Hedvig,  half  to  herself. 

A  guttering  reflection  lit  in  Fru  Clara's  eyes  ;  she 
nodded,  and  said  : 

"  You've  every  right  to  say  so,  I  suppose.  Now, 
you  mustn't  mind  if  I  talk  of  something  else.  Will 
you  go  with  me  to  Copenhagen,  now,  when  I  go  ?  Only 
two  or  three  days.  You  will  come  back  here  after,  of 
course." 

Hedvig  promised  gladly. 

Once  more  Fru  Clara  changed  the  subject  abruptly. 


262     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Tell  me — what  papers  did  you  take  in  over  there  ?  " 

"  Varde  Dagblad." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  No  other  newspapers.  But  we  used  to  get  Hojskole- 
hladet  and  Ugens  Nyheder.  And  I  had  books  sent  from 
Copenhagen,  and  .  .  ." 

"  Good — very  good  !  "  said  Fruen, 

When  Hedvig  took  her  leave,  Fruen  went  with  her 
a  little  way.  They  walked  arm  in  arm  along  the  railway 
hues  by  the  harbour.  There  was  a  soft,  dehcious  melan- 
choly in  the  air  ;  Hedvig  breathed  tremulously.  Even 
an  ordinary  railway  truck,  standing  there  all  asleep 
under  its  tarpaulin,  seemed  eloquent  in  its  dry  smell 
of  dust  and  oil.  As  a  schoolgirl,  Hedvig  had  played 
"  bathing  "  in  one  of  those  springy  tarpaulins,  flapping 
and  swimming  about  till  the  blood  burned  and  stung  in 
her  cheeks.  And  once — later  on — she  had  gone  out  on 
just  such  an  evening  as  this  and  called  up  a  little  lad 
from  his  play  among  the  railway  trucks,  to  carry  a 
letter.  .  .  . 

Even  the  blue  Belt  seemed  to  breathe  a  melancholy 
perfume — reminding  one  of  salt  tears.  .  .  . 

Down  beyond  there  was  the  same  little  plank  stage 
where  Johan  had  taken  his  boat  and  rowed  away  so 
furiously  that  night. 

Hedvig's  lips  trembled.  A  gentle  womanly  hand 
rested  lightly  on  her  arm — a  few  days  more,  and  that 
hand  would  be  outstretched  in  farewell. 

Alone  in  the  world.  No  father  nor  mother.  True, 
they  lived,  but  not  in  her  world.  No  Augustinus  even. 
Augustinus  Trillingsbaek — his  very  name,  and  all  that 
belonged  to  him,  had  become  distasteful  to  her  now. 
It  all  seemed  sour  and  forbidding,  hke  stale  milk. 

No,  Hedvig  was  alone  in  the  world  now — alone,  with 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     263 

none  but  Hedvig.  She  cowered  in  dread  and  wretched- 
ness close  to  Fru  van  Haag  walking  so  silently  by  her 
side. 

The  evening  light  out  over  the  water  and  over  the 
dark  shores  of  Jutland  was  the  colour  of  dark  hellebore. 


XIX 

FRU  VAN  HAAG  went  down  herself  to  Soren 
Vognmand  and  ordered  a  carriage  to  meet  the 
eleven  o'clock  train.  She  and  Soren  had  grown 
great  friends  ;  ay,  this  was  something  different  indeed 
from  the  first  day  he  had  driven  her  from  the  station  ; 
eh,  my  dear,  but  she  paid  him  twice  over  every  time  ; 
first  the  price  of  the  job,  and  then  a  smile  and  a  word  or 
so  beyond,  each  worth  i|  Kroner  at  the  least. 

To-day  Soren  is  hard  put  to  it  to  make  out  what 
Fruen  means.  She  is  so  queer  to-day.  Ordinarily, 
she  would  just  say  :  a  carriage  at  such  and  such  a  time, 
please.  Now,  she  is  asking  if  Soren  hasn't  a  iiner  carriage, 
something  special. 

"  Finer  than  the  one  we  always  take  ?  And  isn't 
that  easy  enough  ?     Why,  'tis  soft  as  a  cradle,  surely." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But,  Soren,  what  do  we  want  a 
carriage  to  seat  four  for  when  there's  only  two  of  us  ? 
Haven't  you  one  that'll  just  take  us  two  and  the  coach- 
man on  the  box  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  I  wouldn't  have  Fruen  drive  in  any  but 
the  finest,  with  coronet  on  the  door  and  flourishes  and 
'  S.  S. — Soren  Sorensen  '  under.  That's  me.  But  to  seat 
two — well,  there's  the  Uttle  dogcart." 

"  Let  me  see  it." 

"  It's  this  way.     There,  there  she  is." 

"  No,  I  don't  hke  that." 

"  Well,  now,  what  did  I  say  ?     Though,  to  be  sure, 

364 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    265 

it's  a  good  little  cart  enough.  And  if  there's  too  many 
seats  in  the  other,  why,  we  can  take  one  out." 

"  Could  you,  now  ?  "  said  Fruen,  brightening  up. 

"  Why,  no,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  can't  be  done."  Soren 
had  not  expected  to  be  taken  at  his  word. 

"  Oh,  what  a  pity  !  " 

"  But  if  as  Fruen  was  feeling  anxious  Uke,  lest  a 
certain  monkey  of  a  creature  should  want  to  sit  down 
opposite  and  stare  at  her  all  the  way — why,  we  might 
put  a  big  trunk  on  the  opposite  seat,  so  it  can't  be 
moved." 

"  Oh,  S0ren,  you're  a  genius.  The  eleven  o'clock 
train,  then,  Seren.  But  don't  come  too  early.  And  as 
soon  as  you  get  to  the  house,  you'll  find  a  big  trunk  on 
the  steps,  and  put  it  up  on  the  seat  at  once." 

"  Right  !  And  now,  which  would  you  Uke,  the 
blacks  or  the  roans  ?  " 

"  Take  the  roans,  and  remember,  not  too  early." 

"  I'll  remember  every  bit." 

Next  day  Hedvig  Egholm  was  at  the  Toldbod  early. 
They  packed  up  the  last  of  the  things,  and  went  through 
the  rooms  once  more.  Anything  forgotten  now  would 
be  lost  for  ever. 

"  Oh — my  hyacinths  !  Give  me  a  hand,  Hedvig. 
We  mustn't  leave  that  behind.  Here's  the  key  of  the 
big  trunk. 

"  It  won't  go  in — the  frame's  too  big.  No,  it's  no 
good.  .  .  ." 

"  Then  we'll  take  it  with  us  as  it  is.  I  did  it  myself, 
Hedvig,  and  it  dates  from  before  the  Fall,  so  we  mustn't 
have  it  defiled  now.  Hedvig,  you  have  it,  will  you  ? 
Hang  it  up  in  your  room.  We  can  stop  at  the  house 
going  by  and  leave  it  there." 

Hedvig   thanks   her   quietly.     She   has   a   hundred 


266    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

things  already  that  Fru  van  Haag  has  given  her  in 
remembrance,  but  nothing  that  pleases  her  so  much  as 
this.  These  painted  flowers,  the  work  of  a  girl,  have 
something  of  Fru  van  Haag's  soul  in  them. 

Little  creaking  steps  can  be  heard  from  the  bedroom  ; 
Hr.  van  Haag  is  busy  with  an  extra  special  toilet  in 
honour  of  Fruen's  departure.  He  opens  the  door  and 
inquires  down  the  passage  : 

"  Why  isn't  the  carriage  there  ?  " 

Dagmar  will  ask  her  mistress. 

Meantime,  one  of  the  customs  men  drags  the  two 
trunks  down  to  the  stone  steps.  It  is  late.  A  boy 
comes  up  with  a  big  bouquet  of  white  roses,  which  Dagmar 
carries  up  to  Hr.  van  Haag. 

"  Why  isn't  the  carriage  there  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  Fruen  said  she  didn't  know." 

"  Put  the  flowers  on  the  bed.  And  then  go  down  and 
see  if  you  can  see  it  coming." 

Dagmar  goes  quietly  out  into  her  kitchen  and  sits 
down  on  a  wooden  chair  by  the  stove.  She's  not  a  fool  ; 
she  knows  that  when  you  can  see  the  carriage,  it's  there 
already,  seeing  it  only  comes  from  Soren  Vognmand's 
round  the  corner.  Moreover,  Dagmar  is  leaving  on  the 
first,  and  doesn't  care.  Stay  on  under  Fru  Vang — not 
if  she  knows  it  ! 

Then  at  last  Soren  Vognmand  rattles  up,  turns  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  drives  up  to  the  door.  He 
jumps  down  from  his  seat,  and  with  a  mighty  heave 
swings  the  trunks  up  on  to  the  front  seat  of  the  open 
carriage.  Then  up  to  the  box  again  to  deliver  his 
famous  pyrotechnic  cracks  of  the  wliip  over  the  horses' 
heads. 

Fru  van  Haag  and  Hedvig  have  been  standing 
ready  with  their  things  on,  looking  at  the  clock  in  a 


i 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     267 

fever  of  anxiety  lest  Soren  should  obey  his  instructions 
too  well  and  come  too  late  for  the  train. 

Then  Fru  Clara  walks  down  the  steps  of  Knarreby 
Toldbod  for  the  last  time — walks  with  her  peerlessly  free 
and  graceful  carriage,  incomprehensibly  young.  A 
strange  being,  Fru  Clara — with  a  wonderful  gift  of  eternal 
youth,  and  hopelessly  unable  to  find  her  way  to  decrepit 
old  age.  A  permanant  defiance  of  her  birth  certificate 
was  Fru  Clara.  Hedvig  and  she  looked  hke  two  friends 
of  the  same  age. 

Fru  Clara  takes  her  seat ;  Hedvig  gets  in  after,  hold- 
ing the  picture  in  her  hands  and  looking  about  for  a 
safe  place  to  put  it. 

"  Drive  on,  Soren." 

At  the  same  moment  Old  Poulsen  comes  edging 
out  from  the  office,  and  shambles  down  to  the  carriage. 
His  lower  jaw  moves  up  and  down  once  or  twice  without 
a  sound.  By  some  accident  his  uniform  cap  has  slipped 
awry,  and  sits  cocked  irreverently  on  one  side  of  his 
dingy  grey  hair.  Alas  !  Poulsen's  head  had  once  been 
wreathed  with  dark,  curly  locks. 

"  Soren — stop  !  " 

Poulsen  holds  a  paper  in  his  hand.  Baring  his  head, 
he  hands  the  document  up  to  Fru  Clara — a  beggar, 
proffering  a  petition  to  the  queen  ! 

"  Oh,  did  you  come  to  say  good-bye,  Poulsen  ? 
Thanks,  thanks  a  thousand  times.  We've  been  good- 
friends  ever  since  I  first  came.  I  shall  always  think 
kindly  of  you,  be  sure  of  that.     A  letter  ?     Thanks." 

"  The  speech,"  says  Poulsen.  He  cocks  his  hat 
awry  again,  and  his  gums  mumble  something  inaudible. 

"  The  speech,  yes,  of  course,"  says  Fru  Clara  kindly, 
as  if  humouring  a  child. 

"  You'll    never    come — again !  "     The    foolish    old 


268     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

face  is  wrung  with  pain ;  the  words  are  a  cry  of 
anguish. 

Fru  van  Haag  takes  his  hand  and  looks  generously 
into  his  eyes. 

"  ril  read  it,  yes.  And  keep  it.  But — Poulsen  " — 
Fruen  turns  to  Hedvig,  and  the  pair  exchange  a  single 
eloquent  glance — "  will  you  take  this  picture  as  a  little 
gift  from  me  ?  I  painted  it  myself  many  years  ago. 
You've  always  been  so  good  and  kind,  and  I  want  to 
thank  you." 

Hedvig  and  Fru  Clara  together  hand  the  hyacinths 
to  Poulsen,  who  takes  the  picture,  overwhelmed  as  if 
by  a  weighty  burden. 

Fru  Clara  has  yet  a  few  words  to  say,  but  her  gentle 
speech  is  drowned  by  an  angry  voice  addressing  Soren 
in  terms  of  abuse.  Van  Haag  himself  has  just  come 
down.  His  dress  is  the  acme  of  neatness,  but  his  face 
is  flushed  with  anger.  He  has  had  to  run  down  the 
stairs.  A  man  in  his  position,  in  his  newly  tailored 
creases,  to  run  .  .  .  ! 

Hr.  van  Haag  waves  his  big  bouquet  threateningly 
at  Soren,  and  says  : 

"  And  where  do  you  suppose  I  am  to  sit  ?  " 

Soren  has  given  but  little  thought  to  the  question  ; 
he  points,  however,  without  hesitation,  at  the  scanty 
vacant  space  beside  his  own  broad  self,  and  says  : 

"  Here." 

"  On  the  box  !  Are  you  mad  ?  Take  those  trunks 
out  of  the  way  at  once  !  " 

"  I  can't  do  without  the  trunks,  Julius," 

"  Then  I  shall  stay  at  home." 

"  Very  well." 

"  But  it's  ridiculous.  The  very  idea  !  Do  you  want 
to  make  a  fool  of  me  before  the  whole  town  ?     Oh, 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     269 

well,  then — there,  take  these  roses,  I  got  them  for  you. 
Carry  them  yourself — don't  give  them  to  Hedvig.  For 
the  look  of  the  thing,  at  least." 

"  Farvel,  Julius." 

Julius  van  Haag  draws  his  heels  together  ;  his  silk 
hat  flashes  three  times  in  the  air  behind  the  carriage  as 
it  rolls  away.  An  immaculate  figure  from  top  to  toe. 
But  behind  him,  up  against  the  wall,  stands  a  crushed 
and  flattened  scarecrow,  holding  in  its  crooked  fingers  a 
little  painting  in  a  gold  frame.  One  sleeve  has  worked 
up  high  above  the  wrist,  revealing  an  instrument  of 
torture  in  the  shape  of  a  tight  starched  cuff.  Old 
Poulsen,  staring  rigidly  down  the  empty  street.  .  .  . 

Soren  drove  at  a  furious  pace  through  the  town  ; 
he  could  trust  his  cattle,  and  knew  what  they  could  do. 

Fru  Clara  leaned  back,  sniffing  the  acrid  smell  of 
sweating  horse-flesh.  The  sun  was  full  in  her  face  ; 
she  looked  neither  to  one  side  nor  the  other,  but  a  smile 
gathered  on  her  lips. 

"  Take  the  wire  off,  dear,  will  you  ?  "  she  said,  hand- 
ing the  roses  to  Hedvig.     "  Carefully,  there's  a  dear." 

The  carriage  turned  off  the  cobbled  way  now  into 
Stationsvej ,  where  the  wheels  crunched  firmly  as  over  a 
sanded  floor.  Egholm  stood  by  the  hedge,  and  bowed 
and  scraped  as  they  passed  ;  his  wife  half  rose,  and 
waved  a  white  handkerchief.  A  moment  later  they  were 
at  the  station.  The  train  was  late  ;  there  was  plenty  of 
time. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  things,"  said  Fruen,  patting  each 
of  the  horses  on  the  neck.  She  pulled  at  their  fore- 
locks, and  then,  after  a  hasty  glance  to  either  hand, 
divided  the  roses  between  them.  But  the  roans  had  no 
taste  for  such  refinements  ;  they  flung  the  roses  aside 
into  the  dust. 


270     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Hi,  yovi  brutes  !  "  cried  Soren.  "  Nice  manners, 
indeed  !  " 

But  Fruen  pressed  Soren's  hand  in  farewell,  and 
pressed  it  once  again,  this  time  with  much  money. 

"  All  the  same,  there's  not  many  of  your  sort,"  said 
S0ren,  nodding  thoughtfully  as  he  spoke. 

The  train  sang  its  way  in  over  the  sunny  green- 
sprouting  fields.  Fruen  and  Hedvig  sat  facing  each  other. 
They  spoke  but  little — there  were  others  in  the  com- 
partment— but  glanced  at  each  other  now  and  again  with 
a  little  nod.  And  Hedvig  marked  how  Fruen's  eyes 
grew  brighter  with  increasing  content  for  every  station 
added  to  the  distance  between  them  now  and 
Knarreby.  She  began  playing  tricks.  She  bought  up 
the  whole  stock  of  the  sweetmeat  man  on  Odense  station, 
and  paid  him  to  go  round  distributing  peppermints  and 
chocolates  and  acid  drops  to  all  who  passed.  People 
thought  the  man  was  mad,  and  this  amused  Fru  Clara 
intensely.  A  minute  before  the  train  moved  off  again, 
the  man  came  running  up  with  eyes  aglow — he  had  still 
a  whole  box  of  sweets  left — here  ;  four  Kroner.  Fruen 
bought  this  box  too,  and  gave  it  back  to  him  at  once — 
for  his  own  consumption  exclusively,  she  explained,  with 
great  seriousness. 

At  Nyborg  they  found  the  morning  papers  from 
Copenhagen.  Fru  Clara  bought  one  of  each,  and  after 
changing  over  to  the  ferry,  where  she  and  Hedvig  had 
coffee  at  a  little  table  on  the  upper  deck,  Fruen  began  to 
read.  The  wind  tore  at  the  paper  ;  she  had  to  fold  it 
up  into  a  tiny  square.  It  was  strange  to  see  her  reading 
so  eagerly — newspapers  did  not  interest  her  as  a  rule. 
She  put  down  the  first  one  on  the  seat  when  she  had  read 
it,  sat  on  it  herself,  and  took  another. 

"  May  I  look  ?  "  said  Hedvig. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     271 

"  Do  you  want  one  ?  "  said  Fruen.  "  All  right — but 
wait  a  minute." 

She  turned  the  pages,  tore  one  out,  and  passed  Hedvig 
the  rest. 

"  Censorship  ?  "  said  Hedvig,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes — for  the  present.  You're  only  used  to  the 
provincial  papers,  you  know." 

"  Fm  not  in  the  provinces  now.  And  I  have  seen 
Copenhagen  papers  before,  you  know." 

"  Read  what  I  give  you,  now,  and  don't  ask  ques- 
tions." 

Hedvig  was  slightly  annoyed  at  this.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  this  sudden  protectioning  attitude  ?  Why 
should  Fruen  tear  out  a  page — and  hide  it  in  her  bag  ? 
Really,  Hedvig  felt  it  was  beyond  a  joke.  But  as  the 
paper  fluttered  in  her  mistress's  hand,  she  caught  a 
ghmpse  of  a  word — a  name — Johan  Fors. 

Her  face  turned  pale  and  seemed  to  shrink  ;  she 
breathed  with  difficulty  as  she  asked  : 

"  What  does  it  say  about  Johan  Fors  ?  " 

"  Nothing — oh,  well,  I  suppose  it's  too  late  now. 
Only  that  he's  giving  an  exhibition  of  his  things  in 
Copenhagen.  I  knew  he  was  going  to — but  I  wanted  to 
see  what  the  papers  said  about  them  first." 

"  Isn't  he  in  Paris,  then  ?  " 

"  The  pictures  were  sent  from  Paris — it  says  so 
here." 

"  I  should  so  hke  to  see  what  it  says,"  said 
Hedvig. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  want  to,"  said  Fru  Clara,  handing 
over  the  paper.  "  I  thought  you  regarded  him  as  your 
spiritual  enemy — as  one  of  the  humbugs." 

"  I  should  like  to  read  about  it — and  I  should  like 
to  see  the  pictures  awfully." 


272     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Well,  we'll  go  and  look  at  them  one  day  when 
we've  time." 

"  I've  always  been  to  all  the  exhibitions,  and  then 
I  was  with  those  artist  people  for  quite  a  time,"  said 
Hedvig  excusingly. 

"  Well,  well,  if  you  think  you'd  like  to." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hedvig,  gazing  far  out  over  the  Great 
Belt.     "  Yes,  I  shotdd  hke  to." 

A  west-bound  ferry  passed  them,  and  they  noticed 
how  the  flock  of  gulls  deserted  it  now  that  it  was  nearing 
land,  and  came  over  to  their  own  to  make  the  trip  once 
more.  The  birds  came  gUding  up  alongside,  and  shrieked 
out  a  bright  httle  greeting.  One  of  them  settled  on  the 
mast — not  from  weariness,  no,  merely  to  scratch  its  head. 
That  done,  it  was  on  the  wing  again  at  once.  How  far 
removed  they  seemed  from  everything  unclean,  these 
children  of  the  wind  and  the  sea.  Their  breasts  were 
gleaming  white,  like  newly  washed  and  ironed  things 
ready  for  a  ball.  -  Lovely,  delicate  young  ladies,  far  above 
anything  so  vulgar  as  work.  All  these  humans  on  board 
were  merely  their  attendant  slaves.  "  Food,"  cried  the 
winged  young  ladies,  and  food  was  given  them  at  once. 
They  ate  in  the  air,  where  all  was  clean  and  fresh,  drop- 
ping the  residue  with  the  utmost  dehcacy,  almost 
coquettishly,  into  the  water. 

Hedvig  turned  from  the  gulls  and  asked  suddenly : 

"  Why  should  I  hate  his  things  ?  " 

"  No,  why  ?  " 

"  Surely  art  can  give  us  the  nearest  we  can  get  to 
real  happiness  ?  " 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  to  be  an  artist  yourself  in  any 
way  ?  " 

Hedvig  laughed.  "  No,  I  think  I  care  too  much  for 
art  to  spoil  it  with  my  own  coarse  fingers." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG    273 

She  spread  out  one  hand  as  if  in  illustration,  and, 
seeing  that  her  fingers  were  soft  and  slender  after  all,  she 
added : 

"  I  suppose  really  it's  because  I'm  not  an  artist  by 
nature.  But  surely  there  must  be  some  people  on  earth 
to  just  appreciate  art — other  people's  art.  Pictures, 
for  instance.  Or  books.  Art  does  hft  one  above  earth. 
And  I  think  however  much  humbug  there  may  have  been 
in  him — with  his  playing  in  the  church  at  midnight — 
and  that  sort  of  thing — it  must  have  got  rubbed  off  him 
now  out  in  the  world.  I'm  sure  he  had  talent  enough 
for  anything." 

"  You're  feeling  quite  fond  of  him,  it  seems  to 
me." 

Hedvig  did  not  answer  at  once  ;  but  she  was  not  dis- 
concerted, only  thinking  it  over  in  her  mind. 

"  Could  I  ever  be  fonder  of  him  than  I  was  the  day  I 
left  him  ?  Impossible.  And  isn't  that  enough  ?  My 
will  is  stronger  than  my  heart — I  don't  want  to  be  my 
mother  over  again.  For  that's  what  it  would  have 
meant.  I  felt  myself  that  I  must  either  go— turn  my 
back  on  him  and  go  for  good — or  throw  myself  at  his 
feet  as  he  stood  there  in  the  boat,  bareheaded,  golden- 
haired,  splendidly  handsome,  but  with  devil  and  tyrant 
in  his  eyes.  There's  no  such  creature  in  aU  the  world. 
Dear  Fru  van  Haag,  I  feel  myself  far  above  everybody 
in  the  world  —  yes,  even  you — when  I  think  that  he 
loved  me  for  just  those  five  minutes  or  whatever  it  was. 
But  why  did  he  love  me  ?  Because  I  was  proud.  And 
what  did  his  love  make  of  me  ?  A  slave.  Now,  can  you 
understand  that  my  way  must  lead  away  from  him,  that 
I  must  turn  my  back  on  him  and  go  ?  Cold  as  a  stone 
— and  with  the  fire  of  five  minutes'  love  within." 

They  reached  Copenhagen  that  evening,  drove  to 
i8 


274     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

the  hotel,  had  a  bath  and  some  dinner,  and  were  in  time 
for  a  theatre  after.  The  next  few  days  were  spent 
chiefly  in  shoppmg.  Fru  van  Haag  threw  herself  into 
the  delights  of  feminine  finery  as  a  swimmer  into  the 
sea.  She  had  money  now,  and  did  not  intend  to  bury 
it.  She  wanted  to  infect  Hedvig  as  well.  As  soon  as 
she  perceived  the  girl  lingering  awhile  with  some  soft 
material  between  her  fingers,  Fru  van  Haag  pressed 
her  insistently,  wouldn't  she  take  that,  now  ?  How 
many  yards  ?  What — didn't  want  it  ?  Extraordinary 
person  ! 

No — Hedvig  shook  her  head.  Nevertheless,  as  was 
but  natural,  she  would  be  standing  there  a  moment 
later,  looking  at  her  arm  through  some  light  silken  stuff 
that  seemed  woven  of  the  sea-water  itself.  Not  even 
this,  however,  became  hers  ;  her  lot  proved  to  be  a  dress 
of  black  satin  embroidered  with  violets.  She  disap- 
peared into  it  like  a  bee  into  a  flower,  and  when  her 
head  peeped  forth,  and  she  saw  herself  in  the  glass,  she 
laughed  till  her  eyelashes  quivered. 

Fru  van  Haag  sat  down  in  a  wicker  chair,  and  drew 
a  deep  breath  of  approval. 

Hedvig  was  lost  now  for  good.  She  bowed  down 
before  a  pair  of  square-toed  patent  leather  shoes,  and 
made  obeisance  to  fantastic  hats. 

So  she  became  a  princess  in  Copenhagen,  and  next 
morning,  when  the  two  ladies  set  out  from  the  hotel, 
in  bright  sunshine  with  a  fresh  breeze  from  the  Sound, 
on  their  way  to  the  exhibition,  people  turned  to  look  at 
them,  as  if  admitting  with  their  eyes  that  the  Lord  had 
taken  pains  over  this  piece  of  work,  and  with  excellent 
results  here  were  two  ladies  who  did  Him  credit. 

"  We'll  separate  now,"  said  Fru  van  Haag,  as  they 
reached  the  place. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     275 

"  Whatever  for  ?  "  asked  Hedvig,  with  some  dis- 
appointment. 

"  Then  we  can  each  go  where  we  Hke.  See  you 
later  on." 

Hedvig  bought  a  catalogue,  and  went  in  to  the  left  ; 
Fruen  had  gone  to  the  right. 

There  seemed  to  be  hardly  more  than  a  couple  of 
visitors  besides  themselves  in  the  whole  place.  A  noble- 
looking  old  gentleman,  with  white  hair,  walked  quietly 
through  on  the  matting.  A  schoolmistress,  sadly  eroded 
by  the  ravages  of  time,  kept  stringently  a  picture's 
length  ahead  of  him,  hurrying  forward  with  hunted  eyes 
whenever  he  ghded  nearer.  The  girl  at  the  lottery  board 
was  reading  The  Scarlet  Pimpernel. 

Hedvig  sat  down  on  a  yellow  sofa  and  opened  her 
catalogue.  She  read  the  childish  titles  of  the  works  : 
"  Two  Cows."  And  lower  down,  "  Two  Spotted  Cows." 
Now  she  came  to  the  section  headed  Johan  Fors  :  "An 
Old  Man  in  the  Woods  "  ;  "  Young  Swedish  Girl  on  a 
Windy  Day  "  ;  "  Study  from  the  Nude  "  ;  "  Nymphs 
at  Play."  Johan  was  exhibiting  twelve  pictures  in 
all. 

Hedvig  crushed  the  book  in  her  hand  and  rose.  She 
could  not  lie  to  herself — it  was  Johan's  work  she  had 
come  to  see — not  to  sit  on  a  yellow  sofa  and  look  at 
two  cows  and  three  cows.  Yes,  her  heart  was  beating 
crookedly,  irregularly  ;  she  was  interested  to  see  how 
this  man  had  turned  out. 

She  caught  up  the  old  gentleman  and  the  ravaged 
schoolmistress  ;  some  instinct  told  her  where  Johan's 
pictures  would  be. 

She  was  there  now,  in  a  fine,  light  room  ;  facing 
the  door  hung  a  large  picture  with  trees  and  water 
and  a   bowed  figure — evidently  Johan's  chief   work — 


276    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"the  old  man,"  which  all  the  papers  had  praised  so 
much. 

Hedvig  steps  nearer — the  water,  yes,  that  is  Little 
Belt,  the  trees  are  the  dark  firs  outside  Knarreby,  and 
the  old  man — was  her  father.  He  seemed  at  that 
moment  to  raise  his  head  and  look  at  her  with  a  burning 
glance. 

Hedvig  could  hardly  stand  upright,  so  violent  was 
the  force  of  the  sudden  impression. 

Hark,  the  murmur  of  the  Belt,  the  whispering  of 
the  wind  in  the  long,  parched  grass,  and  the  stiff  needles 
of  the  firs.  The  old  man  is  kneeling,  his  hair  fluttering 
like  an  uncombed  fringe  about  his  bald  head.  And 
beneath  his  clasped  hands,  with  thin  fingers  intertwined, 
a  little  heap  of  white,  semi-transparent  stones — his 
sacrifice  to  God. 

The  whole  was  wrapped  in  a  strange,  misty  light, 
giving  an  irresistible  impression  of  a  scene  from  ancient, 
ancient  days. 

But  it  was  not  this  light,  nor  the  melancholy  lapping 
of  the  waves  that  Hedvig  felt  most  keenly,  though  she 
had  never  before  seen  canvas  thus  transformed  to  life. 
No,  it  was  the  man's  face.  Oh,  aged  man,  what  had  he 
not  drunk  of  the  bitter  cup  of  life  to  cut  those  furrows 
on  his  brow  and  set  that  mark  of  wretchedness  upon 
his  Ups  !  Here  is  a  hand  that  would  stroke  his  cheek — 
but  the  foot  turns  to  flee  from  him,  in  fear  of  those 
uncanny  eyes.  Good,  kindly  eyes,  but  with  so  much 
suffering  in  their  depths  that  a  poor  girl  turns  away  in 
fear.  How  he  must  have  cursed  that  very  strength 
and  hardiness  in  himself,  that  let  him  live  after  the  slow 
fires  of  experience  had  burned  the  very  eyes  out  of  his 
head ! 

Hedvig  stood  before  the  picture,  herself  hardly  a 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     277 

living  thing.  But  now  came  voices — coming  nearer. 
A  voice  of  exaggerated  sweetness,  spelling  out  the  words 
it  spoke — the  schoolmistress,  no  doubt.  "  The  res- 
tau-rant,"  she  said.  Another  voice  saying,  "  Er  "  and 
"Yes"  and  "I'm  not  quite  sure  .  .  ."  —  a  man's 
voice. 

Hedvig  looked  down  at  her  catalogue — waiting  till 
they  had  passed.  Just  for  a  moment  she  glanced  up — 
yes,  it  was  the  schoolmistress,  but  the  man  was  not  her 
noble  old  gentleman.  .  .  .  Hedvig's  heart  came  to  a 
sudden  stop  and  then  leapt  on  again,  but  her  brain 
still  worked  with  something  Uke  its  normal  calm, 
and  noted  that  here  was  Johan  Fors  talking  to  that 
woman. 

Now  he  met  her  glance — both  he  and  Hedvig  started 
violently. 

The  schoolmistress  addressed  herself  to  Hedvig. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon — have  you  been  all  round  ?  " 

"  AU  round  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I've  been  all  through  the  place  twice  at 
least.  And  I  cannot  find  the  restaurant.  This  gentle- 
man has  been  round  too,  without  finding  so  much  as  a 
cup  of  coffee." 

Hedvig  had  a  vague  idea  the  woman  was  talking 
of  voyages  round  the  world.  Oh,  the  whole  thing  was 
a  dream — or  perhaps  the  woman  was  mad. 

"  Thank  you — I  do  not  want  any  coffee,"  she  said 
in  her  dream. 

"  But  have  you  been  round  ?  " 

"  Round  ?     No." 

Johan  Fors  broke  in  suddenly,  with  great  eagerness  : 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  now — I'm  nearly  sure  it's  that  way 
— just  through  there  and  down  the  stairs." 

But  the  little  schoolmistress  had  scented  something 


278     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

clandestine  between  the  two  ;  she  eyed  them  with  a 
famished  glance  from  one  to  the  other,  murmured  her 
thanks,  and  walked  disconsolately  away. 

Johan  and  Hedvig  were  alone.  They  shook  hands — 
he  with  the  same  firm  grip  fiom  his  journeyman-painter 
days,  though  his  hand  was  smooth  and  delicate  now, 
and  there  was  something  like  a  gleam  of  higher,  more 
spiritual  intelUgence  over  his  brow.  His  clothes,  too, 
were  different  altogether  now.  He  laughed,  and  held 
Hedvig's  hand  long  in  his  own,  pressing  it  different 
ways,  as  if  to  assure  himself  it  was  the  one.  Waves  of 
keen  pleasure  passed  over  his  face. 

Hedvig  spoke  first. 

"  I  did  not  answer  your  letters,"  she  said. 
"  I'm  so  dreadfully  sorry  now  that  I  didn't.  But  I 
don't  suppose  anyone  but  myself  can  understand 
why  it  was.  But  I'm  so  dreadfully  sorry,  all  the 
same." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  that  little  delay." 

"  Delay !  I'm  afraid  it  can't  be  judged  so  Hghtly 
as  that  either." 

"  What  else  should  it  be  ?  I've  the  answer  here 
now.  Here  you  are  yourself.  I'm  holding  your  hand 
— you  grant  me  that  little  hand.  You  don't  even  call 
for  the  pohce,  but  calmly  let  me  stand  here  and 
crumple  it  up  as  I  please.  Froken  Egholm,  what 
better  answer  could  I  wish  for  than  that  you  do  not 
despise  me  at  all,  but,  on  the  contrary,  treat  me  as 
an  equal  ?  " 

Johan  was  not  a  painter's  man  now,  either  in  his 
manner  or  his  words.  He  stood  with  his  back  to  his 
pictures — works  that  the  finest  judges  in  the  country 
had  praised  beyond  all  bounds.  And  now  he  feared 
lest  Hedvig  should  be  confused  in  her  judgment  and  take 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     279 

him  as  one  with  his  work ;  therefore  he  was  more  than 
ever  modest  and  humble  in  his  speech. 

Said  Hedvig  : 

"  I  have  been  standing  here  looking  at  the  old  man. 
I've  no  idea  how  long.  It  was  Hke  being  in  another 
world,  to  look  at  that  picture." 

She  would  have  said  more,  but  could  not  utter  the 
words. 

Johan,  sated  with  fame  as  he  was,  managed  to  flush 
unmistakably  ;  he  grasped  her  hand  and  thanked  her 
shyly. 

"  I'll  show  you  the  others,"  he  said.  "  Here's  an 
Italian  monastery.  We  got  there  late  in  the  evening, 
and  it  was  cold.  So  we  lit  up  a  fire  on  the  stone 
slabs  ;  our  newspapers  and  travelling  books  flaming  up. 
But  it  made  a  splendid  light— and  it  is  a  splendid 
light.  I  caught  it.  That  man  there  is  Lars,  his 
pictures  are  hanging  here  somewhere  ;  the  others  are 
foreigners.  Two  hours'  work — two  and  a  half,  perhaps, 
no  more.  Oh,  I  never  get  tired  of  looking  at  that 
picture." 

Johan  stepped  closer,  looking  it  over  as  a  father 
might  a  child.  Then  he  sprang  three  paces  back  and 
looked  again. 

He  explained  each  picture  to  Hedvig  in  turn.  To 
tell  the  truth,  he  praised  every  one  of  them  to  the  skies, 
and  in  this  he  was  exactly  hke  his  old  self  from  the 
Knarreby  days.  But  with  all  the  resemblance  there 
was  a  striking  difference  ;  he  praised  his  work,  not  in 
order  to  impress,  but  merely  to  share  the  joy  he  had 
honestly  won.  His  eyes  shone  blue  as  the  sky  in  spring 
as  he  talked. 

Hedvig  thanked  him — and  at  once  he  thanked  her 
again. 


280     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

This  was  overdoing  it,  and  he  knew  it,  but  those 
cool,  silky  hands  of  hers  were  irresistible. 

"  If  we  walk  on  a  little,  we  shall  meet  Fru  van  Haag," 
said  Hedvig. 

"  Yes." 

"  Aren't  you  surprised  ?  " 

"  Everything  that's  nice  seems  possible  now  that 
I've  met  you.  And  I  know  she's  going  to  Italy  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  You  must  remember  we've  written 
to  each  other  often.  She  has  been  as  the  dearest  mother 
to  me  from  the  day  she  found  me.  .  .  .  Look  here,  what 
do  you  say  to  going  out  somewhere,  all  three — to  the 
woods,  or  somewhere  by  the  sea,  and  talk  over  old 
times  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  Fru  van  Haag  will  come  too.  .  .  ." 

"  Come !  "  said  Johan  Fors,  with  eager  eyes. 

But  they  did  not  find  the  one  they  sought.  There 
was  hardly  a  soul  in  the  exhibition  building  now.  Then 
Johan  asked  an  attendant  : 

"  Have  you  seen  a  lady — handsome,  elegantly 
dressed — oh,  how  would  you  describe  her,  Froken 
Egholm  ?  " 

"  In  a  white  jacket  and  white  hat." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  man — he  looked  like  an  old 
colonel  — "  that  was  the  one  that  was  running 
about  after  a  cup  of  coffee  somewhere.  She's  gone 
now." 

Johan  and  Hedvig  burst  out  laughing. 

"  No ;  the  one  running  round  was  another  one. 
Haven't  you  seen  a  tall,  slender  woman  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Ah  yes,  there  were  two — quite  true.  First  there 
was  another  one,  but  she  came  again  after  with  the  one 
— your  one — and  then  they  went  off  together.  Yes, 
it's  right  enough,"  said  the  colonel,  waving  a  hand  as 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     281 

if  to  ward  off  further  discussion.  "  We  don't  serve 
coffee  here,  you  know." 

Johan  and  Hedvig  withdrew,  and  held  a  council  of 
war.  It  would  be  just  Uke  Fru  van  Haag  to  strike  up 
acquaintance  in  that  way  with  a  perfect  stranger,  as 
long  as  the  person  in  question  were  sufficiently  out  of 
the  ordinary.  No  doubt  she  would  come  back  some 
time.  But  when  ?  If  they  were  going  out  for  a  drive, 
as  they  thought,  why,  they  must  go  now,  opined  Johan, 
scratching  his  head. 

"  But  it  wouldn't  be  nice,  surely,  to  go  off  Uke  that 
without  Fru  van  Haag  ?  " 

Johan  met  the  difficulty  smartly. 

"  Not  nice — well,  and  was  it  nice  of  her,  now,  to 
go  running  off  like  that  without  a  word  or  a  message, 
and  leave  us  here  worrying  ourselves  to  death,  not  know- 
ing what's  happened  ?  All  for  the  sake  of  a  miserable 
cup  of  coffee.  No,  really,  you  know,  that  sort  of  thing's 
not  done  in  decent  society." 

Johan  really  looked  angry.  Hedvig  laughed  and 
said  : 

"  Well,  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  write  a  few  words  on  a  bit  of  paper  and  leave 
them  with  the  man  here." 

"  Right — have  you  a  piece  of  paper  ?  " 

Johan  tore  a  leaf  from  his  notebook.  Hedvig  thought 
for  a  moment,  wrote  a  few  words,  and  handed  it  back 
to  him,  whereupon  they  both  doubled  up  and  laughed 
mischievously. 

The  message  ran  : 

"  I've  gone  off  with  some  one  for  a  cup  of  coffee. 
Don't  wait.     Hope  you  don't  mind. 

"  Hedvig." 


282     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

A  little  later  Hedvig  and  Johan  were  racing  out  in 
a  big  grey  car  towards  Dyrehaven,  On  reaching  the 
park,  they  got  out,  and  Johan  jested  childishly  with 
the  chauffeur  about  the  dinner  he  was  to  order  down  at 
the  hotel.  Johan  had  an  irresistible  way  of  making  a 
friend  of  anyone  he  pleased.  All  in  a  moment  he  and 
the  chauffeur  were  just  a  couple  of  red-headed  boys, 
comrades  and  equals,  planning  a  piece  of  fun. 

"  If  the  shrimps  are  ripe — as  to  that  I  can't  say," 
said  the  chauffeur.  "  They  catch  'em,  you  know.  But 
there's  lobster,  of  course.  They're  bought.  And  better 
eating  too.  Nothing  much  in  shrimps,  to  my  mind. 
What  do  you  say  yourself,  now  ?     No." 

Hedvig  stooped  to  fasten  a  shoelace,  and  felt  her 
heart  leaping  and  laughing  sweetly  within  her. 

"  And  then  about  dessert  now  ?  Something  extra, 
with  cream,  eh  ?  "  The  chauffeur  laid  his  head  on  one 
side  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  With  cream,  by  all  means,  yes." 

"  Done,  then."  The  chauffeur  started  his  car,  and 
dashed  off  proudly,  saluting,  with  curved  fingers  to  his 
cap. 

Johan  and  Hedvig  walked  under  the  great  beeches, 
walked  a  long  way  clean  across  all  the  marked-out  roads 
and  paths.  Neither  spoke  a  word,  but  they  seemed 
entirely  in  agreement  at  every  change  of  direction.  The 
air  was  sunny  and  full  of  the  scents  of  spring.  Both 
raised  their  heads  to  listen  when  a  bird  gave  tongue. 
Johan  knew  them — that  was  a  bullfinch — that  was  a 
tit — pink,  pink.  Hedvig  knew  them,  too  ;  so  what 
need  of  caging  their  fresh  impressions  in  any  words  ? 
Tiny  delicate  twigs  snapped  underfoot,  and  from  the 
hills  with  their  carpet  of  brown  leaves  came  endless 
numbers  of  anemone-maids  running  towards  them. 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     283 

A  pleasant  place  to  walk.  The  blood  rose  to  their 
cheeks.  They  turned  round  by  a  thicket  and  came  to 
a  green  open  space,  where  a  score  of  deer  were  grazing. 
They  stood  watching  the  animals  for  a  while ;  then 
Hedvig  moved  off.  Johan  did  not  notice  it  until  she 
was  three  paces  off,  but  in  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side 
again,  and  this  trifling  little  episode  was  enough  to  set 
them  both  laughing,  with  more  enjoyment  than  seemed 
strictly  warranted. 

"  You're  a  good  walker,  Froken  Egholm." 

"  Yes,  there  are  not  many  that  can  tire  me  out." 

"  That  walk  of  yours  annoj^s  me — hurts  me — makes 
me  thoroughly  miserable." 

Hedvig  looked  at  him  uncertainly. 

"  Don't  you  see — ^it's  a  thing  that  can't  be  painted. 
I  couldn't  even  paint  it  myself,  though  I  can  see  it. 
You  can  paint  a  dance,  or  a  person  running.  But  no 
one  can  ever  paint  a  young  woman  walking  through  the 
woods  in  spring." 

"  No  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  you  said  no  !  " 

"  Ah,  but  if  one  would  ..." 

"  One — is  that  you  ?  "  asked  Hedvig,  nervously 
fingering  the  buttons  of  one  glove. 

"  No,  you,  Froken  Egholm.  If  you'd  let  me  paint 
you.  For,  to  tell  the  truth,  I've  never  seen  it  before 
to-day.     I  don't  know  how  to  explain  .  .  ." 

Johan  put  up  one  hand  to  his  eyes,  as  a  man  does 
when  trying  to  see  a  thing  more  clearly  in  his  mind. 
A  moment  later  he  said  : 

"  Froken  Egholm — you  had  another  name  once— a 
little  name  ..." 

Hedvig  buttoned  away  at  her  glove ;  then  suddenly 


284     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

she    finished,    looked   him    frankly   in    the   eyes,  and 
said  : 

"  I  was  '  Hedvig  '  once — and  you  used  to  say  '  Du  ' 
instead  of  '  Froken.'  And  I'm  both  still,  if  you  hke. 
The  other  way's  simply  silly — at  least  I  think  so." 

Johan  stood  before  her,  shaking  his  head,  and  said  : 

"  You  make  it  all  so  dreadfully  hard  for  me." 

"  I  don't  think  so.     How  ?  " 

"  Why  .  .  .  you  say  I  may  call  you  'Hedvig'  and  say 
'  Du  '  to  you.  But  I  expected  you  to  say  no.  And  when 
you  said  no,  I  was  going  to  beg  and  pray  of  you  to  say 
yes.  And  throw  myself  at  your  feet.  And  now — I'm 
just  miserable  because  I  can't  say  it." 

Hedvig's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Oh  no — you  mustn't  be  miserable,"  she  said. 

"  But — but  there's  such  a  lot  I  had  to  say.  I 
love  you,  you  know.  But  how  am  I  to  tell  you  ? 
Listen  ..."  He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  as  if  weigh- 
ing it  in  his  own.  "  I  can  see,  Hedvig  dear,  that  you 
don't  run  away  from  me,  and  thrust  me  aside,  but  I 
daren't  believe  my  own  senses.  I  feel  I  must  go  on  my 
knees  to  you.  There's  something — something  from  the 
old  days  that  I've  got  to  ask  pardon  for." 

"  No,  no,  there's  nothing,"  said  Hedvig.  "  We  had 
to  grow  up  first,  both  of  us  ;   that  was  all." 

Then  Johan  took  her  strongly  in  his  arms.  He  lifted 
her  up,  and  walked  backwards  and  forwards  with  her 
for  a  while,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  to  set  her  down 
again. 

"  Strange.  .  .  .  Strange,"  he  said  again  and  again. 

His  face  was  so  serious  now — Hedvig  even  found, 
to  her  surprise,  something  of  a  resemblance  to  the  old 
sorrow-burdened  man  on  the  picture. 

"  What  is  so  strange,  Johan  ?  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     285 

"  It's  so  strange  that  a  thing  you've  thought  out  over 
and  over  again  a  thousand  times  can  still  seem  new 
and  wonderful.  For  I've  cared  for  you,  always,  and 
never  for  any  other,  and  I've  pictured  to  myself  you 
walking  with  me  in  a  wood,  and  how  you  should  be  mine. 
And  now  it's  come.  But  I  never  thought  you  as  lovely 
as  you  are  now — if  I  had,  I  could  never  have  waited 
to  grow  up,  as  you  say.  It  was  right,  you  know  ;  we 
have  to  grow  up  first.  And  only  to  think  how  we've 
gone  together,  as  it  were.  Here  are  you,  a  queen  among 
all  the  women  in  the  world,  and  I — I'm  nothing  com- 
pared to  you,  Hedvig — but  in  my  work  .  .  .  Anyhow, 
now  I've  got  you,  I'll  paint  the  world  to  bits.  I'll  be  a 
great  artist  now,  Hedvig.  You — you  electrify  me  some- 
how. No,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is  ;  now,  hsten.  Do  you 
know  that  feeling  when  you're  walking  by  the  sea  on  a 
summer  day  ?  Feehng  hot  and  tired — and  there  is  the 
sea.  All  blue  and  transparent  water — and  the  white, 
cold,  guttering  sand  beneath.  Do  you  know  what  I 
mean  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  know,"  said  Hedvig,  with  serious  attention. 
They  were  walking  slowly  up  the  big  hill  now.  Johan 
held  her  hand  in  his,  but  his  eyes  were  looking  up  and 
out  to  a  great  distance.  His  brow  was  sUghtly  furrowed  ; 
he  was  trying  hard  to  paint  his  picture  just  as  he 
saw  it. 

"  Good  ! — but  do  you  know  how  one  can  feel  a  simply 
maddening  desire  to  jump  out  into  the  cool,  clear  water, 
like  a  sort  of  thirst  in  every  nerve,  a  thirst  that  must 
be  quenched  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Hedvig,  with  bowed  head. 

"  Hedvig — you  are  the  sea  !  It's  not  your  blue 
eyes  or  any  one  thing  about  you,  I  mean,  but  you,  all 
of  you.     Your  name — everything.     And  here  have   I 


286    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

been  walking  tired  and  hot  for  years  past  now,  longing 
to  dive  into  you.  .  .  .  But  the  sea  sHpped  away  from 
me  somehow,  as  if  a  glass  wall  rose  up  between  you  and 
me.  You  didn't  answer  my  letters.  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
no  air  to  breathe  when  you  didn't  write.  Oh,  I  can't 
understand  now  how  I  ever  managed  to  paint  a  single 
stroke." 

Hedvig  threw  her  arms  round  him  and  pressed  her 
head  close  to  his  breast. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  forgive  me,  Johan.  Do  say  you're 
happy  now,  and  not  angry  with  me  any  more." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  say  such  words  to  you,  Hedvig.  But 
I  love  you  more  madly  than  ever  now,  with  that  look 
in  your  eyes.  I  have  seen  it  once  before  to-day — when 
the  Httle  girl  cried  out  for  the  dog  that  ran  towards  us 
in  the  car.  You  are  all  tenderness,  Hedvig  dear.  Not 
a  wooden  doll,  or  a  stuffed  kiwi — no  !  " 

"  Really,  I  think  I  can  agree  with  you  as  to  the 
last,"  said  Hedvig.  "  I  don't  feel  in  the  least  Hke  a 
stuffed  cassowary  or  whatever  it  was  you  said." 

Oh,  Hedvig  and  Johan  had  many  things  to  tell  each 
other  to-day.  They  grew  quite  merry,  and  walked  on, 
cutting  across  all  roads  without  any  idea  as  to  where 
they  would  end. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Johan,  "  how  it  was  I  managed 
to  hold  out  in  spite  of  being  in  love  with  you  and  never 
getting  a  word  from  you  in  return.  I  wrote  to  Fru  van 
Haag,  and  she  consoled  me.  She  simply  said,  '  Don't 
worry  about  her  ;  she  shall  be  yours  all  right  as  soon  as 
you've  made  your  name  as  an  artist.'  And  I  didn't 
see  how  I  could  beheve  in  it  really,  but  I  stuck  to  the 
work,  all  the  same.  I  made  as  if  I  did  beheve  it,  and 
then  I  went  to  Paris  and  Rome  and  all  those  places,  and 
starved  and  painted  and — well,  she  was  right,  you  see  !  " 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     287 

"Oh — Johan  ,  .  ."  Hedvig  clasped  his  arm  suddenly. 
"  Did  you  order  dinner  at  the  hotel  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Roast  lamb  and — oh,  I  can't  remember 
what  I  said.  I  was  half  out  of  my  senses  already  at 
the  time.     It  was  the  chauffeur,  really,  who  decided," 

"  Well,  we  must  get  Fru  van  Haag  to  come  too  !  " 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Johan,  and  there  were  extra  kisses 
because  it  was  a  fine  idea. 

"  But  how  are  we  to  get  hold  of  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  easy  enough," 

"  How  ?  " 

"  He'll  manage  it  all  right — the  chauffeur,  I  mean, 
I  sent  him  back  to  town  to  find  her.  Hedvig,  I 
wonder  if  you'll  ever  understand  what  I  felt  like  at  that 
moment,  standing  there  making  jokes  with  that  leather- 
bound  fellow  in  the  car.  I  must  get  hold  of  Fru  van 
Haag,  I  said  to  myself.  Either  she'll  have  to  help  me 
over  the  black  depths  of  misery — in  a  word,  take  Hedvig 
Egholm  back  home  with  her  while  I  go  out  in  a  boat  .  ,  . 
after  all,  a  man's  only  one  hfe,  you  know,  and  that's 
not  much  use  to  him  if  he  can't  live  it  with  the  woman 
he  loves.  Or  else  she'll  be  badly  wanted  to — to  celebrate 
the  festive  occasion.  But  you  needn't  suppose  I  dared 
go  far  along  that  line  of  thought  !  " 

After  another  hour  of  deUght,  Hedvig  and  Johan 
came  down  to  the  hotel.  The  chauffeur  was  waiting 
for  them,  and  reported  that  he  had  found  Fru  van  Haag, 
not  at  the  exhibition,  but  at  her  hotel.  And  she  had 
sent  this  card, 

"  Did  you  speak  to  her  yourself  ?  "  asked  Hedvig. 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  thank  Heaven  for  that !  I  felt  so  nervous  all 
at  once.     I  wonder  why  she  wouldn't  come." 

Johan  opened  the  envelope  hastily,  and  read  : 


288    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  Dear  Johan  Fors, — I  can't  come.  There  was  an 
important  letter  waiting  for  me  here  when  I  got  back, 
and  I  must  go  off  to-night  to  Knarreby  again.  Come, 
both  of  you,  if  you  can.  Clara  van  H." 

He  passed  the  card  to  Hedvig. 

The  dinner  was  countermanded.  The  car  was  brought 
round,  and  a  moment  later  they  were  driving  back  to 
Copenhagen  at  full  speed. 

Neither  Johan  nor  Hedvig  spoke  ;  both  were  wonder- 
ing what  strange  thing  could  have  happened  now.  It 
must  certainly  be  something  very  serious  indeed  to  make 
Fru  Clara  return  to  Knarreby  and  Hr.  van  Haag. 

"  Could  it  be  anything  to  do  with  us — my  people — 
father,  I  mean  ?  "  said  Hedvig,  after  a  while. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  were  right." 

"  You  know,  then,  that  Fru  van  Haag  has  been 
just  as  much  to  father  and  mother  as  she  has  to  us 
two  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  could  see  that  from  her  letters.  That  is 
to  say — you  know  her  upside-down  way  of  looking  at 
things — she  was  always  writing  about  how  grateful  she 
was  to  you  and  your  mother  and  father  for  aU  you'd 
been  to  her.  And  I  believe  her.  Only  think  what 
your  father,  for  instance,  has  been  to  me.  I  used  to 
meet  him  at  nights  when  I  was  out  with  my  violin.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  him,  I  shouldn't  be  the  man  I  am  now. 
I  have  seen  him  kneeling  down,  offering  up  sacrifices  of 
stones  and  pouring  out  wine  on  the  ground.  I  have 
never  spoken  to  him,  but  I  feel  I  owe  him  a  great  deal, 
nevertheless,  for  he  helped  to  bring  something  of  poetry, 
mysticism,  into  my  life." 

Johan  shook  his  head  as  if  dwelling  on  some  memory 
of  the  past,  and  said  : 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     289 

"  And  for  an  artist,  that's  as  needful  as  water  for  a 
fish." 

"  Poetry,  yes,  but  mysticism  ..."  said  Hedvig 
thoughtfully. 

"  Poetry  and  mysticism  are  like  oxygen  and  hydro- 
gen, the  two  together  make  the  water." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it — do  you,  I  wonder  ?  "  said 
Hedvig.  And  she  repeated  the  words  again  as  if  to 
herself. 

They  had  reached  the  town  now,  and  were  twisting 
and  turning  in  and  out  between*  clanging  trams  and 
tinkhng  cycles  until  they  stopped  in  front  of  the  tubbed 
trees  and  spread  awnings  of  the  hotel. 

Johan  and  Hedvig  went  up  in  the  lift  and  knocked 
at  Fru  van  Haag's  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  came  from  within.     And  they  entered. 

Fru  Clara  stood  by  the  window,  bending  over  a 
trunk.  She  looked  up  with  a  smile,  but  her  eyes  were 
reddened  with  weeping. 

Hedvig's  eyes  were  drawn  at  once  to  a  little  gilt 
table  where  lay  a  letter  with  her  mother's  three  dabs 
of  sealing-wax  and  the  impress  of  a  thimble.  A  sudden 
fear  seized  her ;  it  must  be  something  .  .  .  her 
father  ..." 

Johan  kissed  Fru  Clara's  hand,  and  said  : 

"  Your  prophecy's  fulfilled,  Fru  van  Haag.  Hedvig 
is  my  Hedvig  now.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  always  has 
been.     But  she  wouldn't  own  up  till  to-day." 

Fru  van  Haag  drew  them  to  her  in  turn,  kissed  each 
on  the  brow,  and  uttered  brokenly  a  few  gay  words  about 
youth  and  happiness. 

"  And  I  did  so  hope  it  would  come.     I  never  doubted 
you,  Johan,  but  I  was  a  little  anxious  about  her.     And 
now,   you  two  dear  creatures,   come  and  hear  what's 
^9 


290     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

happened  in  Knarreby,  The  bricks  have  turned  out  a 
faihire  !  Every  single  one  of  them  a  dead  lump  of 
refuse.  And  your  father  had  set  all  his  hopes  on  this 
one  thing,  and  the  shock  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 
He's  lying  there  at  home  now,  very  ill  —  perhaps 
dying." 

With  tears  of  suffering  in  her  eyes  Fru  Clara  told 
them  what  the  letter  said.  Her  own  sensitive  heart 
had  heard  Egholm's  despairing  groans  and  Anna's  quiet 
grief. 

"  I  must  go  home  to  them  now.  I  must  go  by  the 
night  train — it's  the  only  thing  to  do,"  she  said. 

"  I  could  go,  Fru  van  Haag,"  said  Hedvig. 

"  You  ?     No,  dear,  I  must  go  myself." 

"  Oh,  won't  you  let  me  ?  " 

"  We  can  go  together — all  three  of  us,  perhaps. 
But  I  must  go  in  any  case.  You've  your  way  of  look- 
ing at  your  father,  and  I've  mine.  And  the  great  thing 
now  is  to  make  him  happy  at  the  last." 

"  I've  come  to  look  at  father  differently  now,"  said 
Hedvig  softly. 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

Hedvig  bowed  her  head. 

"  To-day,"  she  said. 

Fru  van  Haag  saw  now  that  Hedvig  could  accom- 
plish as  much  as  she  herself — or  perhaps  more.  She 
realised  too  that  it  would  raise  a  whirl  of  scandal  if 
she  were  to  return  to  Knarreby  without  going  to  the 
Toldbod.  There  was  no  saying  what  Hr.  van  Haag  might 
not  find  it  necessary  to  do — for  the  look  of  the  thing.  It 
was  with  twofold  relief,  therefore,  that  she  learned  of  the 
change  in  Hedvig's  view. 

They  stayed  together,  all  three,  till  the  train  went. 
The  two  women  quarrelled  mildly  about  Johan.     Fru 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     291 

van  Haag  wanted  him  to  go  to  Knarreby  with  Hedvig, 
but  Hedvig  herself  insisted  that  he  should  stay 
with  Fru  van  Haag  for  the  few  days  that  remained 
until  she  left  for  the  south.  And  Hedvig  gained  the 
day. 

The  train  roared  out  from  the  glass-roofed  hall, 
leaving  Johan  and  Fru  van  Haag  on  the  platform. 
Among  the  scores  of  waving  handkerchiefs  their  eyes 
followed  one.  The  metals  creaked  long  after  the  train 
had  gone  ;  the  space  between  the  platforms  yawned  like 
an  open  grave. 

The  crowd  had  begun  to  disperse  ;  Johan  and  Fru 
Clara  tore  themselves  away  and  followed,  walking 
slowly  out  towards  Vesterbro. 

Then  Johan  bent  his  viking  neck,  speaking  close  to 
her  ear  in  the  noise  of  the  traffic,  and  said  : 

"  We  shall  meet  next  year  in  Rome,  Fru  van  Haag. 
And  be  happy  together  there  ?     Shall  we  ?  " 

Fru  van  Haag  looked  into  his  eyes  with  a  glance  at 
once  firm  and  deep. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  No,  Johan  Fors.  Do  not  speak 
to  me  of  meeting  in  Rome.  I  have  had  a  great 
sorrow  to-day — but  a  far  greater  joy.  And  I  will 
take  both  in  my  hands  and  go  up  into  the  solitude  of 
the  mountains." 

The  street  was  thronged  with  a  noisy  crowd  ;  Johan 
and  Fru  van  Haag  were  elbowed  and  jostled  from  this 
side  and  that,  but  Fru  Clara  seemed  already  as  if  moving 
in  her  solitude  among  the  mountains.  Johan  heard 
every  quiver  of  her  wonderful  voice  ;  her  words  seemed 
to  take  form  like  rich  dark  grapes. 

"  I  will  go  away  and  hide  among  the  hills,  where  no 
one  can  find  me  any  more.  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to 
look  up  and  follow  you  and  Hedvig  from  afar — but  you 


292     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

must  not  try  to  seek  me  out.     I  only  hope  the  story  of 
Fru  van  Haag  is  ended  happily  to-day." 

It  was  Fruen — Fruen  of  the  gentle  heart  that  spoke. 
Johan  walked  with  knit  brows  and  said  no  word.  He 
felt  he  had  no  right  to  speak. 


XX 

THE  following  night  Hedvig  sits  in  Egholm's  little 
parlour,  talking  with  her  father.  He  is  fully 
dressed — has  been  for  the  past  three  days  and 
nights,  despite  all  Anna's  prayers  and  entreaties.  The 
faint  light  of  the  oil-lamp  reaches  only  to  his  chest,  but 
his  haggard  face  seems  twice  as  large  as  usual  in  the 
half-dark  above.  He  is  in  pain,  without  a  moment's 
respite.  As  he  speaks,  he  writhes  about,  twisting  his 
body  into  different  wry  positions  every  minute.  But 
his  voice  is  quite  low  and  under  control ;  save  for  the 
look  of  him,  one  might  believe  he  was  sitting  over  some 
work  that  must  be  finished  before  the  morning,  having 
a  comfortable  chat  with  his  daughter  as  the  night 
draws  on. 

Yet  he  is  speaking  of  death. 

"  I'm  not  afraid,  you  know.  No  more  than  the  other 
times  I've  changed  my  trade.  Only  a  little  anxious. 
I  turned  photographer  because  I  was  no  good  on  the 
railway  ;  now  I'm  going  to  be  a  dead  man  because  I'm 
no  good  as  a  live  one." 

"  You're  going  to  get  well,  father,  and  do  big  things 
yet.  Make  a  great  invention,  or  take  up  your  old 
turbine  again.  You  see — you  wait  and  see  ;  it  will  be  all 
right." 

"  Think  a  cracked  heart  can  grow  together  again  ? 

Mine's  cracked,  as  I  said.     I  have  to  sit  holding  it  all 

the  time,  and  as  soon  as   I  even  think  the  least   bit 

293 


294     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

hard,  the  blood  comes  boiling  out  all  loose  into  my 
chest." 

"  But  you  know  well  enough  it's  not  that  really, 
father.  It  feels  like  that,  perhaps,  but  if  it  was  true, 
you'd  be  dead  long  ago." 

But  Egholm  stuck  to  his  own  idea,  and  went 
on  : 

"  Now,  the  question  is  whether  I  shall  be  any  good 
dead.  If  not,  what  then  ?  I  was  no  good  as  a  mer- 
chant, so  I  turned  photographer,  and  being  no  more 
good  at  that  than  the  other,  I  turned  railway  man — the 
thing  I  was  least  good  at  of  all.  And  what  then  ?  Photo- 
grapher again.  But  can  I  get  alive  again  if  I  find  I  only 
make  a  hash  of  being  dead  ?  I'm  tired  now,  you  know — 
dreadfully  tired.  .  .  ." 

"  Haven't  you  anything  you  believe  in  now,  father  ? 
Once,  I  remember,  you  used  to  be  stronger  in  your  belief 
than  anyone  I've  ever  known." 

Egholm  twisted  his  body  forward  and  expanded  his 
chest. 

"  No.  No.  It's  all  gone  to  pieces  somehow.  With 
my  faith  as  with  my  work.  The  Brethren  over  in  Odense 
sickened  me  of  all  religion,  till  I  turned  atheist.  But 
what  sort  of  an  atheist  was  I  ?  One  that  went  out 
secretly  into  the  woods  to  offer  up  sacrifices  to  God. 
I  turned  inventor,  because  I  didn't  somehow  fit  in  among 
the  things  we've  got  already.  But  my  inventions  were 
no  good,  and  I  wished  myself  back  in  the  olden  times, 
when  everything  was  primitive  all  round." 

Fru  Egholm  entered  from  the  bedroom,  and  slipped 
into  a  chair  with  a  sigh.  Egholm  turned  his  head  towards 
her,  and  said  : 

"  And  I've  been  a  tyrant  to  your  mother  here,  bui  a 
clumsy  one  ;   I  wasn't  even  clever  at  that.  .  .  ." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     295 

Fru  Egholm  sprang  up,  took  one  of  his  hands  in  hers, 
and  said,  weeping  : 

"  You  ?  Ah  no,  dear,  no.  You've  been  so  good  ! 
Don't  sit  there  in  a  solemn  hour  lying  that  you're  wicked 
when  you're  so  good." 

"  Good  ?     I  ?     When  ?  "  said  Egholm. 

"  To-day  and  yesterday — always." 

"  No.  Since  Fru  van  Haag  came,  I've  been  '  good.' 
But  I've  only  been  good  very  badly,  just  as  I  was  wicked 
very  badly  before  she  came." 

Anna  found  this  rather  beyond  her.     She  said  : 

"  Remember  :  '  Judge  not,'  it  says.  And  it's  all  the 
same  for  not  judging  yourself." 

"  The  punishment  must  be  what  it  may.  I  can't 
work  it  out  any  different." 

Egholm  laid  his  arms  along  the  back  of  the  settee, 
one  on  either  side  ;  his  head  drooped  weakly  forward, 
and  he  went  on  faintly  : 

"  No,  it's  just  that  I'm  thinking  about  ;  if  I  could 
look  back  and  find  one  single  thing  I'd  ever  done  that 
was  complete  and  thorough,  I  could  die  in  peace.  But 
there's  nothing." 

Hedvig  glanced  back  mentally  over  her  father's 
Ufe,  as  far  as  she  knew  it.  There  were  many  evil  things 
she  remembered.  True,  she  could  find  excuses  in  his 
sickness  of  mind,  in  his  poverty,  but  she  knew  that  what 
he  was  thirsting  for  now  was  not  forgiveness  for  sins 
committed,  but  acknowledgment,  appreciation  of  some 
positive  achievement.  That  alone  can  make  a  human 
being  happy. 

"  It  is  a  great  deal  to  ask,"  she  said.  "  How  many 
can  say  they  have  done  anything  so  great  in  their  hves  ? 
Father,  don't  sit  there  and  make  me  unhappy  too.  Are 
you  going  to  ask  the  same  of  me  ?     I'm  only  a  girl,  that 


296     THE  MIRACLP:S  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

lives  her  life  and  looks  after  her  work,  and — how  shall 
I  say  it  ? — cares  for  some  one  else  in  the  world  and  believes 
some  one  cares  for  her  too.  But,  father,  is  there  more 
than  that  ?  For  Fve  so  Httle  wish  for  anything  more. 
A  special  task  in  Hfe — is  it  that  you  mean  ?  Tell  me 
what  you  think,  for  I  know  you're  wiser  than  I." 

Egholm  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  the  girl ;  the 
furrows  of  pain  showed  lighter  in  his  face. 

"  You  ask  me  ?  You  do  me  the  honour  to  ask  what 
I  think  ?  No.  don't  !  You  mustn't.  All  that  I  do 
and  all  that  I  say  is  wrong.  Don't  hsten  to  me.  Listen 
to  what  your  own  heart  tells  you.  You  are  wise — but 
as  for  me,  I  know  nothing — nothing." 

"  Oh,  father,  you  know  you  don't  mean  that.  You've 
always  reckoned  me  just  as  a  silly,  naughty  girl." 

Egholm  smiled  slightly. 

"  Naughty,  yes — but  it's  just  that  naughtiness  I 
mostly  count  as  wisdom  now.  You've  always  set  your- 
self up  against  me,  from  the  time  you  were  no  bigger 
than  a  sparrow.  How  did  you  know  that  was  the  only 
proper  thing  to  do  ?  I  was  your  father — but  who  told 
you  that  I  was  a  fool  as  well  ?  Fve  admired  you  in 
secret  for  years  past  ;  and  to-day  it  shall  be  made 
manifest,  being  the  Last  Day.  You  sprang  at  my  throat 
once,  when  you  were  a  little  girl — once  when  I  was  going 
to  ill-treat  your  mother.  And  since  that  time  you've 
been  my  superior." 

"  But,  father — if  Fm  as  perfect  as  you  say,  then  you 
have  made  something  that's  perfect,  seeing  Fm  your 
daughter  !  " 

Egholm  started,  but  answered  swiftly  : 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  bodily  things." 

"  But  body  and  spirit  can't  be  separated  Hke  that, 
father.     And  I  didn't  go  out  into  the  world,  away  from 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     297 

your  influence,  till  I  was  nearly  grown  up.  No,  it's  no 
good  shaking  your  head  and  saying  you've  only  been  an 
example  to  rne  of  what  I  should  avoid.  Do  you  know 
anything  about  pottery  ?  " 

Egholm  thought  for  a  moment,  but  Hedvig,  seeing 
the  effort  worried  him,  went  on  at  once  : 

"  I  knew  a  man  who  made  vases  and  figures  and  baked 
them  in  an  oven.  He  was  a  great  artist.  And  his  vases 
were  the  loveliest  colours.  He  knew  the  secret  of  a 
powder  that  nobody  else  knew.  And  it  was  that  that 
made  the  lovely  colouring." 

"  A  sort  of  alchemy  ?  " 

"  Something  hke  that,  you  might  say.  But  your  life 
is  just  Hke  that  powder,  father.  And  I  can  say  that 
my  heart  at  least  is  a  rare  work  of  art,  a  vase  in  beautiful 
colours.  For  I  don't  think  there's  anyone  in  the  world 
can  feel  so  happy  as  I  can.  Oh,  father,  it  is  a  lovely 
thing,  my  heart." 

Egholm  felt  soothed  beyond  measure  by  her  words. 
His  face  brightened  to  real  gladness  as  he  answered  : 

"  Well,  if  I  really  am  a  magic  powder,  I  don't  mind 
being  burnt  up  !  " 

Emanuel  came  home  by  the  night  train,  and,  later 
still,  Sivert  came  steahng  in.  He  had  gone  back  to  his 
old  habit  of  nocturnal  wanderings.  The  whole  family 
was  now  assembled,  and  Egholm  chatted  a  little  with 
each  in  turn.  There  was  no  pain  at  his  heart  now,  but 
he  assured  them  he  was  near  to  death.  They  propped 
him  up  with  pillows,  and  tried  to  jest — ^he  wasn't  going 
to  die  this  time.  His  conviction  was  unshaken,  but 
now  and  then  he  dozed  off  for  a  few  minutes  where  he 
sat,  and  at  last  dropped  off  into  a  peaceful  sleep. 

Fru  Egholm  beckoned  the  three  children  away.  Who 
could  tell — perhaps  the  sleep  would  do  him  good. 


298    THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

They  decided  to  go  up  into  the  attic,  where  their 
voices  would  not  disturb  him.  Sivert  was  co  tell  them 
all  about  the  trouble  at  the  brickworks. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  it  all  beforehand. 
Cornelius  had  sworn  to  have  his  revenge." 

"  Cornelius  Worm  ?     For  what  ?  " 

"  He  clambered  up  into  father's  turbine  boat  one  day 
when  he  was  a  boy,  and  cut  himself.  And  that's  why  he 
cheated  father  over  the  brickworks." 

"  I  don't  think  it  needs  any  special  secret  reason  to 
make  Cornehus  Worm  cheat  anyone,"  said  Hedvig. 

"  Ah,  but  he's  been  boasting  of  it  to  Sveidal,  the 
engineer.  And  Sveidal's  a  friend  of  mine.  You  don't 
know  the  secrets  of  this  world.  But  I  think  and  think 
and  find  them  all  out,  down  in  my  cellar." 

"  But  even  if  Cornelius  did  want  to  cheat  for  some 
reason  or  another,  he  couldn't  make  the  burning  turn  out 
a  failure." 

Sivert  answered  at  once. 

"  The  clay  was  all  used  up  beforehand  ;  what  was  left 
was  nothing  but  gravel,  really.  But  where  one  swindler 
leaves  off,  another  starts  ;  they  form  an  alUance  all 
over  the  world.     The  foreman,  he  was  a  swindler  too." 

"  But  I  thought  he  was  so  reasonable  about  wages," 
said  Emanuel. 

"  Ah,  you  haven't  seen  his  contract.  Father,  he  had 
a  contract  too,  in  the  end,  hke  somebody  else  I  could 
name.  And  that  contract  particularly  said  that  the 
foreman,  in  addition  to  his  wages,  was  to  have  all  im- 
perfect or  faulty  bricks  not  ordinarily  saleable  as  sound. 
Do  you  see  it  now  ?  " 

Sivert  waved  his  hands  and  giggled  in  thorough 
enjoyment  of  his  own  perspicacity. 

"  Now  do  you  see  why  the  foreman  naturally  managed 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     299 

so  as  to  have  as  many  spoiled  as  possible  ?     All  of  them 
were  spoiled — and  so  they're  all  his  !  " 

Hedvig  and  Emanuel  looked  at  each  other — they 
realised  that  perhaps  Sivert  was  not  talking  nonsense 
altogether. 

After  a  pause  Sivert  went  on  again  : 
"  And  now  we  come  to  our  inheritance." 
"  Heavens,  Sivert,  are  you  thinking  of  that  ?  " 
"  Yes — and    laughing    between    my    tears    at    the 
thought." 

"  You'll  be  disappointed,  Sivert,  I'm  afraid." 
"  I've  chosen  my  thing.     Nothing  specially  grand — 
I've  all  I  want  in  that  line  in  my  own  wealthy,  semi- 
aristocratic  home.     Shall  I  show  you  what  I've  chosen  ?  " 
Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  ran  out  across  the 
loft  and  down  the  stairs  to  the  kitchen.     A  moment  later 
he  was  back,  holding  in  one  hand  a  big  brass  ladle. 
"  Here — that's  my  portion  !  " 
"  And  do  you  really  care  about  a  thing  like  that  ?  " 
"  I'm  going  to  give  it  to  Minna  Lund.     She  collects 
brass  and  copper  things.     And  whenever  there's  visitors, 
she  shows  them  round.     We've  visitors  now  nearly  every 
evening,  people  of  the   highest   society — horse-doctors, 
postmasters,  and  engineers.     Sometimes  she  asks  me  in 
too.     And  then  I  can  sit  quiet  in  my  corner,  pretending 
to  read  in  the  telephone  book,  while  they're  all  crowding 
round  to  admire  my  brass  ladle." 

"  And  quite  a  nice  thing  to  do  with  it  too,"  said 
Hedvig  kindly.  "  Then  you  must  polish  it  up  nicely, 
you  know,  and  straighten  out  that  big  dent." 

Sivert  crouched  together  and  slapped  his  thighs. 
"  What — the  big  dent  ?  Are  you  out  of  your  senses 
altogether  ?  Why,  that's  where  father  hit  me  on  the 
head  with  it,  when  I  was  only  four.     It's  to  stay  there 


300     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

as  it  is,  and  hang  like  a  bright  memorial  over  the  greatest 
day  in  my  life  !  " 

He  held  up  the  ladle  to  his  head,  and  cried  in 
deHght : 

"  There,  now,  I  swear  .  ,  .  come  and  look— t^  fits 
me  still !  " 

Hedvig  lapsed  into  deep  thought.  Down  below  lay 
an  old  man  struggling  with  death — up  here  was  his 
victim  waiting  for  his  inheritance.  Well,  well,  if  it  was 
all  a  pottery  experiment  on  the  part  of  the  Lord,  it 
had  not  turned  out  altogether  well.  A  vase  or  so  here 
and  there  had  spoiled  in  the  burning. 

She  reahsed  the  gentleness  of  death  ;  for  a  httle 
while  she  sat  with  her  hands  before  her  face,  then, 
rising,  she  stroked  Si  vert's  hair  and  cheek.  Si  vert  let 
his  arms  fall  limply  to  his  sides  ;  his  legs  seemed  weaken- 
ing under  him,  and  his  Hps  quivered. 

The  three  sat  on  a  little  while  yet,  talking  of  what 
had  passed  and  what  was  to  come. 

As  soon  as  Anna  found  herself  alone  with  her  husband, 
she  fell  to  tending  him  with  the  gentle  hands  of  a  woman 
who  has  been  a  mother  many  times.  In  a  Httle  while 
she  had  slipped  Ms  boots  off,  and  laid  his  feet  up  without 
waking  him — he  would  never  have  allowed  it  otherwise. 
He  was  not  altogether  without  strength.  His  sleep 
grew  sounder,  his  hands,  that  had  been  clenched  all  the 
time,  opened  now  and  fumbled  gently  at  the  rug  she 
had  drawn  over  him. 

Still  as  a  shadow  she  sat,  watching  him.  At  the 
least  change  in  his  breathing  she  sat  up,  ready  to  help— 
if  only  she  knew  how  ?  But  Egholm  slept  and  slept. 
Anna  knelt  down  by  the  settee  and  unbuttoned  his 
waistcoat. 

And  here  she  might  stay  now  she  was  here.     She 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     301 

was  as  near  to  him  now  as  she  could  be,  and  by  laying 
the  patchwork  rug  double,  she  could  lie  easily,  resting 
her  forehead  against  the  cushioned  edge  of  the  settee. 
Anna  had  not  slept  now  for  two  nights  past. 

All  might  turn  out  well  yet — hear  how  he  slept  now, 
her  poor  lad.  Ah,  dear  Lord,  it  was  no  high  treason 
now  to  call  him  her  poor  lad,  now  he  lay  there  all  weak 
and  helpless.  And  she  meant  no  harm  by  it  indeed, 
dear  Lord,  never  a  thought  of  harm.  .   .   . 

She  ventured  the  same  thought  once  more.  Her 
head  rested  so  softly  as  she  was  now.  The  blood  was 
beating,  beating  through  her  veins  ;  she  felt  just  as  if 
she  were  sitting  by  a  cradle.  Rockabye,  rockabye — 
sleep,  sleep,  sleep.  And  now,  here  was  big  sister  Hed\dg 
come  home  .  .  .  rockabye,  rockabye,  sleep — Hedvig, 
with  good  things  for  you  and  me — rockabye,  rockabye 
— and  sleep.  .  .  . 

And  at  last  Anna  herself  was  sleeping — kneeUng, 
bowed,  as  if  in  prayer  before  the  great  Buddha  with  the 
shaven  head. 

An  hour  perhaps  went  by.  Then  suddenly  she  is 
torn  from  her  sleep  by  some  one  calling  her  name. 

"  Anna  !     Anna  !  " 

She  rubs  her  eyes,  rubbing  her  spectacles  off,  draws 
her  stiff  legs  up  under  her,  and  springs  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  heavens — is  it  you,  Egholm,  my  dear  !  I  must 
have  been  dreaming.  Is  it  worse,  dear  ?  Did  you 
call  ?  " 

Her  brain  is  in  a  whirl,  but  every  nerve  tells  her 
something  terrible  is  happening. 

She  fumbles  for  her  glasses,  strikes  her  forehead 
against  the  chair  she  cannot  see,  and  grows  yet  more 
confused.     At  last  she  found  what  she  sought. 

"  Oh,  heavens — speak  to  me,  Egholm,  my  dear  !  " 


302     THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG 

"  It's  come,"  said  Egholm  in  a  hollow,  dreadful 
voice. 

"  Does  it  hurt  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Hurts— yes." 

He  had  wormed  himself  right  up  to  one  arm  of  the 
settee,  and  was  sitting  straight  up,  with  one  hand  in 
under  his  shirt.  There  was  a  greenish  shimmer  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Where — where  does  it  hurt  ?  "  asked  Anna,  shaking 
all  over. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  pointing  under  his  ribs.  "  I'm  all 
icy  cold  from  here  downwards.  It'll  reach  my  heart 
in  a  minute." 

Anna  stood  swaying  this  way  and  that  from  the  hips, 
and  digging  her  fingers  into  her  grey  hair.  This  wretched 
old  head  of  hers — could  it  not  find  something  to  help 
somehow  ?  Was  he  to  die  and  she  to  live  ?  Impossible  ; 
how  could  a  man's  httle  finger  live  when  the  man  was 
killed  ? 

"  What — what  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  moans. 

"  Nothing  to  be  done.     Fire's  going  out," 

"  Hot-water  bandages  !  " 

Egholm  felt  that  here  was  an  idea  which  might  really 
be  some  use.     He  said  : 

"  It  might  help,  perhaps,  for  a  bit.  But  it'll  have 
to  be  quick — quick  !  " 

Anna  dashed  out  into  the  kitchen  and  put  a  kettle 
on  the  oil-stove. 

"  Quick,  quick  !  "  cried  Egholm  wildly. 

She  tore  forth  all  manner  of  woollen  things  and  tried 
to  wrap  round  him,  but  he  was  unreasonable,  and  thrust 
her  away,  muttering  words  she  did  not  understand. 

"  What's  the  good  of  insulating  when  the  fire's  out. 
No,  heat's  the  thing.     Fire — fire." 


THE  MIRACLES  OF  CLARA  VAN  HAAG     303 

Anna  feels  at  the  water — ^it  is  bitingly  cold. 

"  Light  the  fire — and  let  the  powder  burn  !  Can't 
you  hear  ?     Light  the  fire — the  fire  !  " 

Anna's  thoughts  are  fl3^ng  all  ways  at  once.  Where 
is  there  warmth  to  be  got  this  icy,  deathly  night  ?  And 
then  a  great  white  thought  comes  fluttering  home  to 
her.  Now  she  knows !  She  tears  open  her  bodice  and 
the  pitiful  Hnen  beneath,  and  presses  her  beating  heart 
against  his  chest,  lays  herself  close  against  his  body,  with 
but  one  wish,  that  the  fire  in  her  heart  might  serve  him, 
might  burn  for  him,  and  keep  the  ice  from  freezing  his 
heart  to  a  standstill. 

She  lay  there  so,  long  after  the  last  sigh  had  quivered 
through  him.  For  it  may  have  been  the  lot  of  some  to 
lay  their  heart  close  to  another's  and  pour  warm  blood 
into  it,  but  that  is  a  great  happiness.  And  the  great 
happiness  was  not  to  be  her  lot. 

So  she  lay,  when  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  shone 
through  the  curtains.  The  light  came  earlier  now  than 
before  ;  for  all  the  trees  were  felled,  and  Engineer 
Sveidal's  levelhng  ran  right  up  to  the  wall. 


PRINTBD    BY 

MORRISON    AND    OIBB    LTD. 

EDINBURGH 


APR  1  3  1982 

DATE  DUE 

CAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  US    A. 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  317  281 


II  li 


